Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
by BrioScotty
Summary: Future AU. After the events of season 1, Quinn is shipped off to military school.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:** Goodbye Yellow Brick Road  
><strong>RATING:<strong> PG-13 overall. There are two chapters that are distinctly NC-17 and there's quite a bit of bad language used throughout.  
><strong>PAIRINGSCHARACTERS:** Rachel/Quinn, Kurt, a few original characters, Brittany/Santana  
><strong>SPOILERS:<strong> All of Season 1. It's an AU future fic so any similarities with Season 2 are entirely coincidental.  
><strong>SUMMARY:<strong> Written for a prompt at the rq_meme (AU section) and completed for last year's Glee Femslash Big Bang. If you're not into spoilers, here's a mini-summary: Quinn is shipped off to military school after the events of Season 1.  
><strong>NOTES:<strong> I'm indebted to three people for helping me through this fic. They know who they are.

**xxxxx**

Judy Fabray opens the door to the uniformed men with a smile on her face. They offer no smiles in return and instead ask if they can come in. She steps to the side, her heart starting to thud loudly in her chest. She asks them if something has happened to Quinn, if she's still in Iraq. The taller of the men tells her to take a seat, which she does immediately, now fearing the worst, her hands clenched in her lap.

"Where is my daughter?" she asks, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. Quinn couldn't be dead. They had talked a couple of weeks ago, just for a few minutes, just long enough to let Judy know that she'd be home at the end of August.

"We don't know, ma'am," the stockier of the men says. His voice is kinder than that of the taller man. He introduces himself as Captain Adams, the taller of the men is Colonel Thompson. He relays Quinn's last movements and that they haven't been able to trace her whereabouts for just over a week. There had been an attack and Quinn's body hadn't been recovered in the rubble.

"She isn't dead?" Judy asks, heart still hammering in her chest. The two men exchange a quick glance.

"At this time, we can neither confirm nor deny…" the Colonel says, extending his hand to the rapidly deteriorating Mrs. Fabray.

"What do you mean you can neither 'confirm nor deny'?" Judy asks, getting to her feet. "How can you _not_know where my daughter is?"

**xxxxx**

Quinn is aware of little things at first: the rising and falling of her chest; the steady beep of the heart monitor. She tenses her fingers, surprised to find woollen blankets covering her battered body. When she stretches her legs, the muscles pull uncomfortably, probably through lack of use, she figures, although she isn't sure how long she's been in this place, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness for what feels like days, maybe weeks. Her eyes squeeze tighter shut as the ringing in her ears returns and she opens her mouth to scream, only to find she has no voice. A tube is lodged in her throat.

Suddenly, she panics, thrashing her arms out, ignoring the pain that shoots through her body. Footsteps approach and she feels hands holding her down, urgent voices talking to her, but she can't make out their words. The tube is pulled out of her throat and she gasps, filling her lungs up as much as she can before screaming this time. The hands pinning her arms and legs loosen for a second and it's all she needs to throw herself off the bed onto the hard floor. She forces her eyes open but can't focus. The harsh fluorescent lighting burns her retinas and after trying to push herself up, she becomes still, breaths escaping from her mouth in quick pants. She has no energy to get herself off the cold floor.

"Easy there," a voice says in her ear over the ringing. Hands lift her back onto the bed and she curls up on her side, grimacing as her muscles pull and tighten. The voices fade out as the high-pitched humming assaults her ears and she remembers the blast. She remembers flying through the air, being buried beneath rubble, screaming for help until her lungs gave out. She doesn't remember how she ended up in the hospital but she's pretty sure it isn't military.

The drugs in her IV work their magic and she drifts off into dreams of home, of a life she can scarcely remember when she's awake.

**xxxxx**

The phone buzzes loudly on the bedside table, ignored by its owner whose head is buried beneath four pillows. She's in no mood to be woken up this early after finishing shooting at four in the morning and she's already vowed that her next movie will take place in Hawaii or somewhere hot where night shoots don't involve wrapping oneself in three layers to keep warm between takes.

The phone won't stop so she reaches a hand over to the bedside table and fumbles with the touch screen that she's never fully managed to get the hang of.

"Rachel Berry," she mutters, lifting her head slightly before letting it drop back onto the pillows.

"Rachel, it's Finn," she closes her eyes and exhales heavily, ready to end the call when she notices that he sounds upset. She rolls onto her back and picks up the phone, pressing it to her ear after switching it off speaker mode.

"What's wrong?" she asks, although she already knows. She's had a feeling that this day would come eventually. The room shifts sideways as her heart gives an uneven thump and she closes her eyes to stop her world from spinning.

"Quinn's dead," he says it so quietly that Rachel almost doesn't hear him the first time. His voice fades away as the phone slips from her hand and lands on the bedspread with a dull thud. She can hear him shouting her name but she ignores it and slides out of bed, walking quickly to the kitchen to pour herself a very large glass of water.

**xxxxx**

The procession follows the closed coffin, wrapped in the American flag, through the cemetery until it reaches Quinn's final resting place. Judy and Quinn's older sister, Olivia, are immediately behind it followed by other members of the family who live close by. Some of Quinn's friends from military school who aren't currently serving are next, dressed in full-blown military regalia. And at the back, Quinn's friends from High School, from Glee Club especially and a few of the former Cheerios who still live in Lima.

As they pass by Russell Fabray's grave, Olivia casts a glare at the small, modest tombstone and more tears spring to her eyes. He'd been the one who sent Quinn to military school. If he hadn't, they wouldn't be here right now. She grasps her mother's hand tighter and wipes the tears from her face with the back of her free hand.

Rachel walks with Kurt and Mercedes, just in front of Santana and Brittany, irritated that her presence in the church drew more attention than the service itself. Today isn't supposed to be about her. Even now as they walk through the cemetery, members of Quinn's family keep turning around to look at her before whispering in their neighbour's ears. She finds that she can't look at the coffin for more than five seconds before wanting to burst into tears and instead glances around at the graves of people who have already left this plane.

As they reach the graveside, Rachel spots someone in the distance, half hidden among a small copse of trees. She slides her sunglasses down her nose but the person has disappeared. Rachel shivers slightly, trying to convince herself that she's just seeing things, as tears start to splash onto her cheeks and Finn slides an arm around her shoulders, mercifully saying nothing.

**xxxxx**

Quinn darts between the trees, ducking under branches, and pulls on a helmet and gloves as she walks quickly towards the perimeter wall of the cemetery. After checking that no-one is watching, she pulls herself up over the wall and drops lightly onto the ground on the other side where her transportation is waiting. She climbs onto her motorbike, takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to stop the tears that are building rapidly behind her eyes and peels off down the street. This, undoubtedly, is the worst idea she's had in years.

**xxxxx**

After the priest finishes, crossing Quinn's body for the final time, the crowd starts to disperse. Rachel watches as Judy and Olivia are helped by Finn and Noah back to the cars waiting outside the cemetery. Once everyone is gone, she presses a kiss to the rose in her hand and lays it on the headstone. Her vision blurs again as she reads the epitaph and leans down to trace her fingers over the gold letters.

"Excuse me, are you Rachel Berry?" a quiet voice asks behind her. She straightens up before turning around, wiping away the last of the tears that have managed to escape from behind her sunglasses. One of the women dressed in uniform is standing a few feet away, holding an envelope in her hand.

"Yes," Rachel replies, walking towards the stranger, who removes her hat and inclines her head.

"I'm Natasha Parker. I served with Quinn in Iraq a couple of years ago," the woman says, extending her hand to Rachel. "Quinn spoke about you a lot. She said that you two wrote letters to each other." Rachel nods. "She didn't carry many personal effects, just a couple of pictures and a pad of paper." Natasha holds out the envelope to the shorter woman. "I was asked to deliver this to you." Rachel grasps the envelope tightly, taking off her sunglasses to give the woman a sad smile.

"Thank you," Rachel says. The two walk out of the cemetery together in silence. Kurt and Mercedes are waiting in their rental car, the engine already running. "I should go. Thank you… for this though. I wish we could have met under different circumstances."

Natasha nods and gives Rachel a small smile as she turns and makes her way to her own car. Rachel slides into the backseat of Kurt's car and he pulls away towards the Fabray's house where everyone is going to sit around awkwardly for a couple of hours making small talk about Quinn.

"Kurt, I don't feel up to this," Rachel says. "Could you take me to my house?" She turns the envelope over in her hands.

"Sure, Rach," Kurt replies, changing direction. They both fix her with a sympathetic look as she gets out of the car and Mercedes starts to cry again as Kurt pulls away. Rachel goes straight to her room, ignoring the calls from her fathers and closes the door. She rips the envelope open, pouring its contents onto her bedspread. Three photographs and a writing pad tumble out. She flicks through the photographs: one taken at their final Glee rehearsal of the whole group, one of Quinn, Brittany and Santana two weeks before Quinn went off to military school and another of Rachel and Quinn the following summer when Quinn came home for a couple of weeks. Rachel chokes out a sob as she runs a finger over the photograph of the two of them: Quinn's arm slung casually around Rachel's shoulders, both laughing at something long forgotten by Rachel.

"Summer 2011, R and Q."

She sets the photograph down on the bed and picks up the writing pad. The cover is slightly worn and the pages are dirty but it's the paper that Quinn had been using to send her letters over the past few years. The pad is nearly finished and an incomplete letter stares up at Rachel from the first page.

_18th June 2023_

_Rachel,_

_Congratulations on getting the part! I knew you were worrying about the audition for no reason. I can't wait to see the movie when I get back._

_Things are getting less difficult here. My Arabic is getting quite good now that we're spending more time with the civilians (thanks for sending those wordlists). Some of the children at the local school we've set up are helping me and we're helping them learn some English. They found out that I play guitar (though it's been a while so I use the term 'play' liberally) so they constantly ask me to play them some songs. Unfortunately some of them are ones we sang in Glee so keeping it together is hard sometimes. Thankfully, some of the guys in my troop can carry a tune so it's not a complete disaster._

_In response to your last letter, I think a trip to New York would be amazing. I'll be back in Ohio at the end of August. I can't believe it's been nearly ten years since we last saw each other. I don't know how much we'll have to catch up on though, you've kept me thoroughly updated in your letters. (Did things ever work out with that co-star of yours or did you drive him away with your constant barrage of nonsensical rambling? I'm kidding, I actually miss your ramblings. Clearly there's something wrong with me.)_

_I'm about to go out on patrol for the night, things are a little restless today so they're sending out twice as many of us to keep an eye on things. There's this weird feeling in the air, like something big is going to happen._

_Thanks, again, for writing to me. You've no idea how much I truly_

The letter ends there. Rachel flips to the next page, finding it blank. She places the pad of paper down next to the photographs and just stares at them until her vision clouds and the tears overwhelm her again, crying herself into unconsciousness.

**xxxxx**

Quinn holds out her ID and passport bearing her new name for inspection at the gate of a private airfield not far from Cleveland. The guard nods and she flips the visor down on her helmet before riding towards the terminal building. A plane is waiting for her. The pilot is filling in boxes on a Sudoku puzzle, pencil twirling in his fingers while he works out where his next '8' goes. Quinn cuts her engine and hops off the bike.

"How was it?" Mac asks, glancing up as Quinn pulls off her helmet and gloves, running a hand over the almost-healed scar just below her hairline.

"Awful," Quinn says without emotion. "It was a stupid idea. Can we go? I need to get away from this place."

"Sure thing," Mac replies. He signals to an unseen person who is hidden behind tinted glass at the other end of the terminal. The cargo door of the plane lowers. Quinn wheels her bike inside and secures it under Mac's guidance. "You're not the first Agent to go to their own funeral. I imagine you won't be the last."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mac," Quinn says softly, hopping down from the cargo bay and climbing into the cockpit of the plane. She waits silently for Mac to finish his pre-flight checks and tries to forget the looks on their faces, desperately trying not to think about the life she's leaving behind. Mac climbs into the seat next to her and readies the plane for take-off.

"Goodbye, yellow brick road," he says as they taxi along the runway and leave Lima, Ohio far behind.

**xxxxx**

Rachel is roused from sleep by repetitive thumping on her front door. She stumbles from her bed, tripping as she tries to pull on the jeans she'd left on her bedroom floor the night before. Or earlier that morning. She isn't entirely sure what time, or day, it is and her sleeping pattern is still upset by the night shoots she's been on for the past two months, minus her short break to Lima. This is her first full two days off since the funeral.

"Kurt," she says, pulling open the door after she's checked to see who it is.

"Rachel," he replies, brushing past her, bags of shopping in both hands. She stares after him, frowning slightly before pushing the door closed and flipping the latch on. "It's Friday." Rachel follows the sound of Kurt's voice to her lounge where he's emptying the bags, laying the contents on her couch.

"It _is_ Friday," Rachel remarks, folding her arms across her chest and staring at the man sitting on her floor. "Should that mean something?"

"Brittany's birthday," he says. Rachel's mouth drops and she presses a hand to her forehead. "And you forgot…"

"I didn't forget…" Rachel says quickly. "I didn't realise it was the thirtieth…"

"Thirty-first," Kurt corrects, wagging a finger at the brunette. "I know you haven't felt like going out lately and as your friends, we understand that. So, we thought that since you have the biggest apartment, we could order take-out, watch some movies, have a sleepover… like old times." Rachel had started preparing a speech in her head as soon as Kurt mentioned 'birthday', listing the reasons she wouldn't be able to go out.

"It's been years since we did that," Rachel concedes. "Do I have any say whatsoever?"

"No," Kurt says simply. "Mercedes is picking up Brittany and Santana in an hour, so you should probably go shower."

"Yes, mom," Rachel says before swooping down to give Kurt a hug, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Too tight, Rach," he whispers and she relaxes her hold on him. "I brought some new clothes. I know that you're perfectly capable of doing your own shopping now and that your argyle days are well and truly behind you, but I saw some things and thought of you." He holds up a couple of shirts before passing them to Rachel. "And some new jeans."

"You shouldn't have," she says. "You have to let me pay for them…"

"Rachel, just because you're a big movie star and earning millions of dollars per minute doesn't mean that your_friends_aren't allowed to treat you every now and then," he says firmly. "Now, shower." Rachel nods, feeling her eyes water slightly before leaving the lounge, clutching the shirts and jeans to her chest.

She showers quickly and throws on the new clothes Kurt has brought over, smoothing them down and looking up at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She takes a step closer, examining her reflection a little more intently. She wonders if her sixteen year old self ever imagined that she'd be best friends with Kurt Hummel ten years after leaving high school.

"Rach? How are the clothes?" Kurt's voice drifts through the door and snaps Rachel back to the present. She opens the door and he looks her up and down appraisingly before nodding once and smiling. "My taste in clothes is impeccable, as usual. I don't suppose you have anything in the form of snacks?" Rachel shakes her head. "Alcohol?" Rachel shakes her head again, making a face. Her last experience with alcohol, almost ten years ago, had been enough to put her off for life. Kurt sighs. "Do you at least have take-out menus?" Rachel beams at this and leads him into her spotless kitchen. "I see you've put those home cooking DVD's I gave you last Christmas to good use," he notes, running a finger over the worktop, collecting dust as he does so.

"I've been working…" Rachel starts to protest.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Rachel," Kurt says. "You look like a ghost. Starving yourself to death isn't going to bring her back."

Rachel purses her lips and swings round to face him. He regrets his words instantly and reaches out to place a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Don't," she whispers weakly, pushing his hand away. "I'm not starving myself. I'm not trying to bring her back. It's just work… with these night shoots, my sleeping and eating habits are completely out of control." Kurt nods, still looking a little unsure. "I'll try harder, okay? When I get back to normal shoots, I'll start buying food and I swear the first meal I make, you can come over and enjoy it with me. Or get food poisoning." She smiles up at the taller man and he closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her.

"I just worry about you," he says, resting his chin against her temple and squeezing her tightly.

"I know," Rachel sighs.

The day that cemented their friendship stands out in Rachel's memory. A week before their senior year started, Rachel and Finn had had an argument. They'd started to drift apart towards the end of their Junior year and had spent less and less time together over the summer vacation. The day after Quinn had left to go back to military school, they'd gone out for dinner and had nothing to talk about. Rachel had picked at her food, barely making eye-contact with Finn who in turn had snapped while driving them to his house. The argument had continued in Finn's room where their shouts were overheard by Kurt. Eventually, Rachel ran out of things to say and stormed out of the house. Kurt ran after her and found her sitting on the pavement outside the Hudson-Hummel home, head buried in her palms. He slid an arm around Rachel's shoulders.

"I know how it feels," he said. "To love someone and not have them realise it."

"I don't love Finn," she responded, a weight lifting from her shoulders as she admitted it for the first time, though she was confused by the boy's words. Kurt had given her a sad smile and squeezed her shoulder.

"I wasn't talking about Finn," he had said and waited for the brunette to stop floundering before smiling at her again. "I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," Rachel said finally, resting her head against his shoulder.

The doorbell rings and Rachel jumps slightly. Kurt removes himself from Rachel's arms and goes to answer the door, leaving the brunette clutching at the take-out menus. She shakes her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs of the past and goes to greet her friends. Brittany is carrying sleeping bags, Santana holds up two bags of clinking bottles while Mercedes struggles under the weight of grocery bags filled with Doritos and cookies. Rachel takes the sleeping bags from Brittany and tosses them into the lounge before hugging the blonde.

"Happy birthday! I'm sorry I forgot," Rachel says.

"It's okay," the taller woman replies, spinning Rachel around in her arms before setting her back on the ground and placing a kiss on her cheek. "You can buy me something amazing later." Rachel laughs and helps Mercedes with the food.

"Don't worry," Mercedes says, dumping the bags on the counter in the kitchen. "We got some of those horrible veggie chips you like so much."

"Yum," Rachel says, unpacking the bags and laying everything out. "Those chips are really good for you. Low in fat, high in vitamins…"

"They taste like cardboard, girl," Mercedes interjects with a laugh. "I'll be sticking to my Doritos."

In the lounge, Santana and Brittany are already occupying one couch and Kurt is in one of the reclining chairs perusing the take-out menus. Rachel eyes the shot glasses on the coffee table warily.

"Guys, we're not eighteen anymore," she says, settling down next to Mercedes and gesturing at the glasses. "Are the shots really necessary?"

"Brittany's choice," Santana holds up her hands in a defensive pose. "And it's her birthday."

"I guess one shot won't hurt," Rachel says with a roll of her eyes as Santana starts to pour golden liquid into the glasses, managing not to spill a single drop.

**xxxxx**

"To Louis Vuitton," Kurt announces, holding up his shot glass. Three other glasses rise up to meet his. Rachel sits back, amused by how many things they've found to toast so far, including Doritos, Hollywood and ducks.

"Okay, okay, I have one," Santana says, looking serious all of a sudden. She pours five shots and pushes one towards Rachel who reluctantly lifts her glass off the table. "To Quinn." The Latina's eyes lock with Rachel's who swallows the shot in one gulp and makes a face.

"To Quinn," everyone else repeats before drinking their shot of tequila. Rachel slides off the couch and walks quickly to the bathroom where she sits on the edge of the bath and stares at the tiles beneath her bare feet, frowning at nothing in particular. A gentle knock on the door causes her to look up. Santana edges into the room looking sheepish.

"Sorry," she says, joining Rachel on the side of the bath.

"Why?" Rachel asks, looking back down at the floor.

"For bringing her up," she says. "I shouldn't…"

"Why shouldn't we?" Rachel interrupts. "I'm trying to act like she didn't even exist, Santana, and why? It isn't making me feel any better. It's ridiculous. I need to tell you guys something." She grabs Santana's hand and drags her back into the lounge. The other three stop talking and turn towards Rachel expectantly. Santana drops back onto the couch next to Brittany, resting her head on the blonde's shoulder. "Quinn could have been here tonight."

"What?" Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Her latest tour was due to end this month. She was going to be home by the end of August and she was going to come to New York," Rachel says in a rush.

"How do you know that?" Mercedes asks. "Did you speak to her while she was over there?"

"We wrote to each other," Rachel says, drawing a shaky breath. "For the past few years, Quinn and I have written to each other. The envelope that Natasha gave me after the funeral?" Kurt and Mercedes nod. "Inside it, there were a few photographs and a letter that she never finished." Rachel turns towards the desk next to the bay window and retrieves the envelope, sliding the contents out. Mercedes gasps as she looks at the photograph of the Glee club.

"Oh my god, what the hell am I wearing?" she asks, showing Kurt who laughs in return. Santana has picked up the notepad and is reading through the letter while Brittany stares at the photograph of Rachel and Quinn, her eyes darting up to meet the brunette's face every so often.

Kurt and Mercedes read the letter next.

"What co-star is she talking about?" Kurt asks, glancing up at Rachel who blushes and sighs heavily.

"There was no co-star," she says. "At least no co-star that I wanted to date. Obviously there _were_co-stars..."

"Why lie about something like that?" Mercedes asks. "Why would Quinn care if you're seeing anyone or not?"

"The same reason she broke up with Finn," Santana says, glancing between Mercedes and Rachel, a look of surprise on her face as though the penny has just dropped even though she's known the answer for years. "The same reason you couldn't face seeing everyone after the funeral. The same reason you've been completely cut up since Finn called to tell you the news."

Rachel nods, wrapping her arms around herself as the tears start to fill her eyes, the room starts to blur around the edges. Kurt is there first to keep her upright.

"It's okay," he whispers, rubbing his hand in circles across her back. He leads her back over to the couch as the others watch on, feeling helpless.

"I wanted her to think that I was happy, that I wasn't waiting for her. I was…" Rachel whispers before shaking her head. "I _am_ in love with Quinn."


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn drops to the ground, rolling into a crouch, barely making a noise. She watches five other dark shapes assume similar positions around the room. Their quarry is tied to a chair in the centre of the chamber, head resting against their chest, rasping breaths escaping from their mouth. She glances around, keeping her gun steady.

"Area is secure," she whispers into the mic.

"Agents 12 and 14, move in," the voice says. Quinn watches two of the figures rise to their feet silently, guns still raised as they make their way to the prisoner. When they reach the prisoner, one of the other shadows leaps to their feet and opens fire. Quinn feels the blood in her veins run cold as she watches Agent 12 fall to the ground before she springs up.

"Fuck, 8 just opened fire, 12 is down!" she yells into her mic, pulling a second gun out and aiming both of them at Agent 8. She shoots two bullets into his chest, winding him enough to send him staggering backwards though not injuring him due to the bulletproof vests that are standard issue on these operations.

"Agent 3, what is going on?" she hears a frantic voice in her ear.

"We're fucked," she growls, sprinting to Agent 8, planting a vicious kick to his temple and sending him to the ground. "What the hell, Samuels?" she spits down at him. He sends her a maniacal grin and fires a bullet into Quinn's leg. Quinn doesn't think, she just points both her guns down and shoots him twice, watching his head fall back, the twisted grin on his face still etched there. "We need to get out of here now!"

The other Agents run to the centre of the room and untie the prisoner, hefting him out of the chamber.

"Where did he hit you?" Quinn asks, kneeling next to her second-in-command, trying not to cry out as the bullet in her leg twists.

"Shoulder," rasps Ben, his hand over the wound, blood coating his fingers. "Leave me. Get him out of here."

"You're a moron if you think we're leaving you here with only a flesh wound," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. "Come on." She drags him off the floor. "We have the target. Agents 7, 9 and 14 have left the chamber," she says, touching her finger to her ear, talking to disembodied voices hundreds of miles away. "Agent 12 is injured but conscious. Require pick up to be ready at perimeter."

"Affirmative, Agent 3," the voice replies. "Get out of there. We have movement on the floor below." Quinn helps to hoist her second out of the chamber before pulling herself out, gritting her teeth as a sharp jolt of pain courses through her body. As they move away, she can hear voices yelling at the discovery of Samuels, Agent 8.

"Get him out," she hisses, shoving Ben in the direction of the other agents.

"Casey…" one of them starts.

"That is an order," she growls, grabbing a rifle from Agent 14. "Mac will be waiting. If I'm not there in five minutes, get the hell out of here." The other Agents nod and follow her orders. Disobeying an order from Agent Casey led to reprimands and unnecessary paperwork. And the possibility of being stuck at a desk for the next twelve months.

The voices are getting louder as the captors discover the holes in the ceiling of the cell. She doesn't understand the exact words they're saying but gets the basic gist of the shouts and realises that staying behind possibly wasn't the smartest idea.

"Agent 3, get out of there NOW!" the voice in her ear orders. She ignores the voice and slips a grenade from one of the pockets on her belt. The voices can't be more than fifty feet away. She pulls the pin and tosses the grenade back along the corridor.

The blast is earsplitting but Quinn is making her way out of the compound, hand clutching her thigh as she half runs, half hops towards the perimeter. She grits her teeth as she launches herself up over the fence and lands on the other side, teetering over the cliff face her team had climbed a little over two hours ago.

A grin forms on her lips as she spots the 'transport' rising up from the low-lying cloud. Mac brings the helicopter as close to the ledge as possible and Quinn jumps aboard, landing on the floor in a barrage of expletives.

"Let's go home," she yells to Mac, who laughs and guides them away from the compound. She glances at Ben who's lying flat out on a stretcher, holding a wad of gauze to his wound. "You better hold out until we get back to base."

"No problems there, boss," he says. "Like you said, it's just a flesh wound. Looks better than yours does." He nods to Quinn's leg and when she glances down, the nausea almost overcomes her.

"Ah fuck," she mutters, ripping the shredded cloth of her combats. Agent 14 kneels next to her, ready to clean the wound and apply bandages to stem the flow of blood until they get back to the base.

"Looks a bit nasty," Agent 14 says frowning as he begins to work. "Agent Casey?" As Quinn stares at him, he starts to fade away, swirling until the world goes black. Quinn slumps against the cold hard metal floor.

**xxxxx**

"Agent Casey."

Quinn hurriedly mutes the television she hasn't been watching and turns her attention to her boss. She still frowns slightly at the use of her 'new' name although it's finally starting to sound familiar after four years.

"Sir," Quinn says, sitting up a little straighter in her bed, grimacing at the tug in her leg, a constant reminder of her most recent injury almost a month ago.

"Take it easy," he says, smiling as he draws a chair over to Quinn's bedside. Quinn lies back and switches off the television just as Entertainment Tonight starts, the words 'New War Blockbuster Already Under Threat?' disappearing from the screen. "The doctors are satisfied that you are recovering well from your injuries and should be ready to begin work again within the next two weeks."

"Yes sir," Quinn says then apologises. She's been told countless times over the past few years that referring to everyone as 'sir' and 'ma'am' isn't strictly necessary though ex-military Agents tended to stick with the practice. "Where are you sending me this time?"

"Technically, we're not sending you anywhere," he says, crossing his hands over his stomach. "This mission will require you to stay in Los Angeles for the next six months and will employ… a different set of your abilities as a soldier and an Agent. How much have you heard about Touchstone's latest blockbuster?"

"I'm not up-to-date with current entertainment news…" Quinn answers stonily, "…having been in Peru for the past three months."

"Their latest blockbuster is drawing attention from terrorist groups," he says, choosing to ignore her tone. "Filming started a couple of weeks ago and threats have already been made. We're being led to believe that there is at least one insider amongst the cast or crew. Notes have been found in locations that aren't accessible to the public."

"What kind of notes?" Quinn asks, shifting slightly under her blankets.

"Death threats against the leading actress," he says. "Threats against the studio."

"So you want me to babysit the lead actress on a film set?" Quinn asks, sounding slightly offended. "Sir, my last three missions have involved…"

"I'm aware, Agent Casey," he interrupts. "And it won't be a babysitting job. You'll be working on the set, probably as an extra - we're still finalising the details with the studio, and you'll submit bi-weekly reports to us if you find anything suspicious. We already have agents analysing the notes but at the moment it's too early to tell how serious they are."

"I'm assuming the film is war-related?" Quinn asks. He nods. "You'll be providing an apartment?"

"We have a place near the studio," he says. "Six months and then I'll give you something that allows you to fly through the air shooting two guns at once. I promise." Quinn allows herself a quick smile.

"Who's to say that I won't get that sort of action on this mission?" she asks, raising her eyebrow. "Six months?" He nods once. "At least I can work on my tan when I'm not on set. Guess I'd better start watching Entertainment Tonight. Who's the actress anyway?" She points the remote at the set switching the television back on and her eyes grow wide.

"Rachel something… Bergman? Barry?" he says. "Movies aren't really my thing. My kid loves her though; dragged my wife to see all of her shows on Broadway."

"Berry," Quinn supplies, her eyes glued to the TV, her heart thudding around her ears as Rachel's face fills the screen, camera flashes lighting up her face sporadically.

**xxxxx**

Rachel takes a sip of water between questions, growing weary of the press. She, the director and the producers have been fielding questions for the better part of forty-five minutes now, even though half of their questions would be ignored and the whole thing will be condensed to a thirty-second segment on various news channels barring Entertainment Tonight who are covering the press conference live.

"Ms Berry," one says, standing up, tape recorder in hand. "You're known for your roles on Broadway and in romantic-comedies, why the sudden change of direction?"

"It was the script," Rachel replies, leaning into the microphone slightly. "I found it powerful and moving. I've wanted to do something a bit… meatier for a while now and this seems like the perfect film to demonstrate another side of my abilities as an actress."

"Ms Berry, will you be returning to Broadway after this movie?"

"It depends what parts come my way after this. I never actively decided to do a movie, then a Broadway show and to alternate back and forth for the past six years. It's just the way the parts have worked out. I would like it if my next role kept me closer to New York though." She grins and there are a few chuckles among the journalists and the people sitting next to her at the table.

"Ms Berry, is there any truth to the rumours that you and your former co-star, Anthony…" Rachel holds up a hand and shakes her head.

"No truth whatsoever," she says dismissively, daring the journalist to finish her question. The journalist sits down, eyes on the ground.

"Ms Berry," the next says, not bothering to stand up. "What do you say to critics who claim you're only taking this role to secure yourself an Oscar nomination? After all, you've already won an Emmy, a Grammy and a Tony."

"I try to avoid reading or listening to what critics are saying about my intentions to do this film. While an Oscar nomination would be an amazing honour, it's not the reason that I signed on to do this project."

"Ms Berry," an older woman asks, standing and smoothing her skirt. "What _are_ your reasons? The subject matter is controversial…"

"I lost someone," Rachel interrupts. "Someone very important to me. This war has affected and continues to affect those on American soil too and that is a reason I felt drawn to this movie. Plus there has been a substantial lack of female leads in war films. I want the chance to represent the fact that women go to these countries and fight too." Rachel feels her palms grow clammy as the bright lights start to overwhelm her, she leans towards her agent. "Justine, one more question."

"Final question for Ms Berry," Justine announces. "Yes, Henry."

"Ms Berry," a balding man rises to his feet. "Can you confirm that extra security measures have been put into place after death threats were found in your trailer?"

"Ms Berry will neither confirm nor deny those rumours," Justine says, covering Rachel's microphone. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." Rachel smiles briefly before making her way off the stage into the holding room at the side. She grabs a bottle of water and slides a small white pill from the pouch in her pocket, swallowing it quickly.

She loves her job. Truly loves it. But she hates this part of it. It's new to her: this feeling of being overwhelmed, something that she's never really experienced up until a year ago when she had a panic attack in her car after being surrounded by paparazzi while having dinner with Kurt in New York. Since then, she's avoided the press, giving minimal interviews and rarely attending press conferences. This has been her first one in nine months.

**xxxxx**

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Quinn's hand reaches out to swat the alarm clock on the bedside table in the bedroom of her new apartment. She runs a hand over her eyes, willing her breathing to slow down. The nightmare is always the same. The same girl, the same explosion, the same casualties, the same voices, the same screams, the same blood on Quinn's hands. She looks at her hands now, slightly surprised that there's no blood to be found.

"Fucking get a grip of yourself, Fabray," she whispers to herself in the darkness of her room. She reaches for the bottle of pills next to the bed and swallows two before pulling herself out of bed. The twinge in her leg lessens every day and she's started working out again to build up the muscle she'd lost lying around for a few weeks.

In the bathroom, she peers at herself in the mirror, still trying to get used to her new reflection. Yesterday, her blonde hair had been dyed a chestnut brown and hacked into a much shorter style for her first day on set. She had blue contacts to wear at all times, even though the character she'd be playing would mostly be in uniform. It's too much of a risk to look too much like 'Quinn', especially in a film that will be seen by people who think she's dead. Assuming a new identity is part of what her life is now. It's not the first time Quinn has altered her appearance to fit her new surroundings.

She dresses quickly and grabs her iPod, scrolling through her favourite albums before selecting her usual workout music. Rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms, she walks through her apartment to the second bedroom where she's set up her punching bag and treadmill. She straps her hands up and turns her attention to the bag first, raising her hands and striking a heavy blow, hitting in time with the music.

**xxxxx**

Rachel is sitting behind the cameras next to the director as he points out a couple of changes they've made in the script. She notes them down before watching the next scene being filmed. Usually, if she isn't in front of the cameras, she stays in her trailer, catching up on emails and calling her dads to make promises that she probably won't be able to keep. But this film is different.

She watches as the extras take their positions, final pieces of prosthetic make-up are applied and the lighting is set.

"Action!" the director calls after the set falls quiet. Rachel watches the scene play out on the monitor in front of her, her breath hitching in her throat as she catches a glimpse of Quinn on the screen. Quinn. She shakes her head, telling herself that she's seeing things. Quinn is dead. Even if she _was_ alive, why would she be working as an extra in a war movie starring someone that she knows? Someone that she used to know anyway. Rachel looks up from the monitor, searching for the lookalike, spotting her again with her back to the camera. She has a tattoo on the back of her neck. A tattoo Quinn had bragged about getting after her second tour in Iraq, just after Rachel started writing to her. Rachel feels her blood turn to ice and the room spin a couple of times as she grips onto the arm rests of the chair.

As soon as the director yells cut, Rachel hops down from the chair and excuses herself. Tears blind her vision as she throws a jacket on over her army fatigues and runs to her trailer. Her assistant is hot on her heels, making sure that everything is okay.

"I need the résumés of all the extras on-set today," Rachel tells her. The assistant, having worked with much more demanding actors, nods and leaves the trailer, happy that she has a task that doesn't involve squeezing fresh orange juice or walking a ridiculously clothed Chihuahua.

**xxxxx**

Quinn has just finished filming for the day when there's a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see a nervous-looking girl holding a clipboard and tries to smile reassuringly.

"Can I help you?" Quinn asks, unbuttoning the shirt she's wearing.

"Ms Berry wants to see you," the girl says, glancing down at the clipboard. "You're Alex Casey, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Quinn says, trying to keep her face calm. She hadn't even noticed Rachel on set today. "Did she say why?"

"I'm generally not paid to ask why," the girl smiles. "I can wait until you've changed."

"No, I'll go now," Quinn says, sliding her feet back into the boots she's been wearing for close to ten hours now. They're lighter than the ones she wore in Iraq, but they don't really need to be able to withstand boiling hot temperatures so Quinn is happy to overlook the inaccuracy, not that she's being paid to voice her opinions on what is or what isn't outlandishly inaccurate.

She follows the girl out to the trailers and is directed to Rachel's in the distance, though she knows full well where it is. Quinn thanks her and runs a hand over her hair nervously. Her brain is screaming at her to run. Run now. But her legs have a different idea, leading her over to the trailer. Quinn knocks a couple of times and hears a call to enter. She glances around the trailer as she climbs up the steps, avoiding Rachel's gaze.

"Quinn," she hears the whisper tumble from Rachel's lips and shakes her head.

"You must have me confused with someone else, Ms Berry," Quinn replies. Rachel pushes herself off the couch, sliding off the glasses perched on her nose. "Sorry." She reaches for the door but Rachel's hand stops her.

"Liar," Rachel whispers, grabbing Quinn's chin, forcing their eyes to lock. She watches Rachel search her face, loosening her grip on Quinn's jaw. Quinn's teeth run over her bottom lip and she bites on the corner. Rachel's eyes widen. "Quinn…" her voice is strangled now and tears have started to fall onto her cheeks. Quinn closes her eyes and pulls Rachel into her arms, holding her tight against her chest. "You're alive. I knew it. I couldn't believe…" Rachel pulls away, staring up at the former blonde. "You were at the funeral, weren't you? I knew I saw someone hiding…"

Quinn nods, unable to speak, scared to say anything. She's already let Rachel know too much.

"I have to go," Quinn says abruptly, reaching for the door again.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asks, a frown, a look of confusion crossing her face. Quinn feels her stomach flip over. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation? Does anyone else know you're alive? What are you even doing on a movie set? You can't just leave…"

"Rachel, I can't answer any of your questions," Quinn says firmly, removing Rachel's hand from her arm. "I'm sorry. But I can't."

"Then don't," Rachel says, a note of pleading in her voice. "Don't answer the questions. I won't ask anymore. Just don't go. I can't have you walk out of my life again, Quinn."

"Stop calling me Quinn. You have to call me Alex. Quinn died four years ago," Quinn takes a shaky breath. "I have to go to wardrobe. They're pissed at me enough as it is because I keep complaining about how unauthentic some of the uniforms are." Quinn allows herself a tiny smile. "But I'll come back. You have to promise me that you won't say anything to anyone."

"Who would I tell? Even my therapist would have me locked up for this," Rachel says, walking back to the couch and lying down. She closes her eyes. "Maybe when I wake up, this will all have been some sort of weird dream. Usually my dreams about you involve much less mystery though." Quinn pauses, trying to digest the idea that Rachel still dreams about her. Her hand slackens on the door handle and she walks over to the petite brunette, taking her hands in both of hers.

"I'm real," Quinn whispers. "And I'm sorry." Rachel opens her eyes, blinking back more tears. "I'll be back in ten minutes." The shorter woman nods, silent for a change. Her eyes slide shut and she sighs shakily, determined to wake up from this dream.

But ten minutes later, her trailer door opens again and she cracks one eye open to see Quinn, or Alex, standing in the door way, dressed in jeans and a tank top, a shirt draped over one arm.

"I'm completely insane," Rachel mutters, running a hand over her eyes. "I've completely lost it. I knew those pills were going to start affecting my mental status. I should start writing a complaint letter to the medical association and get my therapist disbarred. Or whatever it is they do to doctors."

"Rachel, stop rambling," Quinn says, leaning against the counter and picking up the half-finished bag of veggie chips. She pops a couple in her mouth and makes a face. "Those are disgusting." She places the bag down again and makes her way over to Rachel, sitting at the opposite end of the couch and examining her nails. Rachel sits up, watching her.

"You have scars," Rachel notes, spying a vicious looking line along Quinn's forearm.

"I have many," Quinn replies sadly. "This is one of the nicer ones."

"Where's the worst?" Rachel asks, shuffling closer to inspect the scar on her arm. Quinn leans down and hitches up the bottom of her jeans, turning her leg to show Rachel a foot-long scar on the back of her calf. The shorter brunette visibly pales. "And it won't heal?"

"It'll fade with time," Quinn says with a shrug. "Most scars do." Rachel glances up to look into Quinn's eyes again.

"Lenses?" Rachel asks, referring to the dull blue-grey shade of Quinn's formerly hazel eyes. Quinn nods. "And the hair? Is it a wig?" Quinn shakes her head, taking Rachel's hand and running it through her hair.

"It's real," she says. "This is the shortest it's been since the army…" She closes her eyes, exhaling sharply. "I shouldn't be here." She leaps off the couch so quickly that she knocks Rachel's arm back. "I should have stayed away…" The brunette rubs her wrist as she climbs off the couch, staring at Quinn's back, her shoulders twitching beneath her tank top as she wrestles with the decision to stay or leave the trailer.

"Then why didn't you?" Rachel asks, anger bubbling up inside her. "Why are you here? I don't believe for a second that the résumé I read this afternoon was real. The shows you 'starred' in? Fuck, Quinn, I've been on Broadway for a decade, I know people in those shows and I bet if I called them up they'd have no idea who you are. Plus, you were in Iraq for most of that time. I have letters, you have scars, I went to your goddamn military funeral surrounded by men and women in uniform… you're not an actress, Quinn, so what the fuck are you doing here?" Quinn doesn't turn around. "Look at me, goddammit!" Rachel grabs Quinn's shoulder and pulls Quinn round to face her. Quinn stares at her blankly for a few seconds before pulling out of the brunette's grasp and walking to the door.

"You shouldn't swear, Rachel," she says softly. "It doesn't become you." The door swings shut and Rachel curses to herself, walking back to the couch and sinking back into the cushions, too angry, mostly at herself, to chase after the woman she used to know.

**xxxxx**

Quinn's alarm doesn't wake her. She hasn't slept. Instead, she's spent the night composing letters. One to her boss outlining the reasons why she should be taken off this mission, including the previously unknown fact - to her bosses anyway - that she and Rachel Berry knew each other in high school.

The second letter is to Rachel, explaining everything. While Quinn struggles to articulate her feelings verbally, she has no problem writing them down. Words are easy when she doesn't have to say them aloud. She writes about Iraq, things that she never mentioned in the letters they'd exchanged, things too harrowing for Quinn to commit to paper at that time. She writes about the attack, being taken to a hospital and being offered a new life, how her death was faked, why she went to the funeral, where she's been since then.

She writes until her hand cramps up but continues anyway, feeling every emotion pour out through her pen. She writes about military school. How she handled being away from home. Then she writes about her feelings for Rachel. Something that she was repulsed with at first. It was a sin, after all, they'd been told in Sunday school and at church and, of course, at home. She pushed the feelings away and worked on being the most popular girl in school. She writes about how, sometimes, she'd cry herself to sleep at night, praying for forgiveness and for God to take away her sinful thoughts.

The sun is starting to rise as she makes her way to the set, planning on delivering the longer of the two letters to Rachel's trailer first before calling Mac to take her to see her boss. Her cell phone buzzes in her pocket and she fishes it out, recognising the number on the display.

"Casey," she says briskly.

"Casey, how are you?" her boss asks.

"Good, sir, and you?" she replies, not bothering to apologise for being polite. She is sick of being sorry for her good manners.

"As good as can be expected," he says. "You're on your way to the set?"

"Yes," Quinn replies. "Actually, sir…" He cuts her off.

"Another letter has been found," he says. "In Ms Berry's trailer." Quinn feels her blood run cold. "We've sent Michaels over. He's with the security staff." Quinn groans silently. Of all the Agents, it _would_ be Michaels.

"And Ra… Ms Berry?" Quinn asks, picking up her speed.

"She's been informed," her boss says. "I believe she's already on set."

"I'll report back as soon as I'm there, sir," Quinn says and hangs up the phone. She pulls out her security pass to the guard on the gate who waves her through and jogs towards the security office, knocking on the door before walking in. Michaels looks up from the letters strewn over the table in the centre of the room.

"Casey," he says with a nod. "I brought coffee."

"Thanks," Quinn says, taking the last cup from the tray. "When was the letter found?"

"Ms Berry's assistant found it this morning, around six," Hank, the head of security, says. "So just over an hour ago. My guys are looking at the security tapes. When we shut down at midnight last night, there was no-one on set."

"Who was first on set this morning?" Quinn asks, looking over the latest letter; the writing, like the rest, is in block capitals and written in thick black marker.

"Bunch of extras and some of the stunt guys arrived at the same time," Hank says. "Then the crew. No-one was on the lot before five."

"There's someone who looks a lot like you leaving Ms Berry's trailer last night," Michaels says, fixing Quinn with a glare. "If you've compromised your identity…"

"I'm not an idiot, Michaels," Quinn fires back. "Ms Berry heard that I'd been in some shows in New York and wanted to chat. If I'd known that researching popular musical theatre from the past decade was going to be part of this role, I'd have politely declined. As it is, Ms Berry's path and mine, thankfully, never crossed."

"Ms Berry, of course, will confirm this?" Michaels asks. Quinn rolls her eyes and glances at Hank.

"Michaels, I'd hate to have to report you for unprofessional conduct," she snaps. "Again." Blushing furiously, Michaels turns back to the letters. "Where is Ms Berry?"

"Her new trailer," Hank says, glancing down at the list in his hand and reeling off the number. "We have a guard on the door at all times and increased security on set. They'll walk her to and from the trailer at all times."

"And mics?" Quinn asks, glancing at Michaels who nods.

"Four in her trailer," Michaels replies meekly.

"Excellent," Quinn says. "Michaels, I'll leave you to your letters. I have to go."

"Where?" Michaels demands, his head snapping up.

"Wardrobe. I have a movie to shoot after all," Quinn says and gives him a smile before leaving the office, walking quickly across the lot, pulling out her cell phone and phoning her boss. She waits for the line to connect.

"Casey," her boss says. "Bring me up-to-date."

"The letter was found at 6am by Ms Berry's assistant," Quinn talks quietly. "The set was empty from midnight until five. I'm going to review the security tapes later this morning with Michaels. Ms Berry has been moved to a new trailer and security guards have been posted outside. She will be escorted to and from the set. Sir… I think… I think it might be pragmatic to inform Ms Berry of who is working on this set to protect her." There's silence on the end of the line.

"Agent Casey, Ms Berry is aware that there is a person from our organisation working on the set," her boss states, an edge to his voice. "Revealing your identity to her, I believe, will not be necessary at this point in time."

"Yes, sir," Quinn says, internally berating herself. She hated going against orders.

"Keep me informed of any developments," he says and the line goes dead. Quinn hurries into wardrobe and through make-up and hair before joining her fellow extras on set though her skin starts to crawl when she realises that one of these people could be the one threatening to end Rachel's life.

**xxxxx**

"Hi, sorry, can I borrow Alex for a second?" Quinn is stunned to hear Rachel's voice behind her and whirls around, staring up at the brunette. No-one at the table says anything so Quinn hops up, wiping her mouth on her napkin and follows Rachel out of the food services tent. A tank rolls by as they walk towards the lot. Quinn glances around and spots three of the security team within thirty yards of Rachel at all times. When they reach her trailer, a guard materialises outside the door as soon as they're inside.

"Guess we know who the star is around here, huh?" Quinn jokes, a forced smile on her lips as she tries to communicate with Rachel that she shouldn't say anything. She mimes writing and Rachel looks confused for a second before glancing around for a pen. As she scribbles a note, Quinn keeps talking. "I spoke to Alan about Rent and he told me to send you his best. He says you should call him when you go back to New York." Quinn finishes writing and slides the note to Rachel.

_Trailer bugged. Don't mention last night. My name is Alex. And we talked about Broadway._

Rachel frowns for a second opening her mouth briefly before considering her next words, "That's so sweet of him. I actually wanted to apologise about last night. I'm just so pleased when I meet someone else who's been onstage in New York when I work on these movies. Sometimes, I say the wrong thing. I hope I didn't upset you." Rachel bites her lip, eyes darting all over the trailer as if she'll be able to see microphones dangling from the ceiling.

"Not at all," Quinn says. "If I seemed a little off, it's only because I'm in complete awe of your work, Ms Berry."

"Call me Rachel," she says instantly. "Please."

"Of course, Rachel," Quinn says. "I think you were robbed at the Tony's for Les Mis." Rachel beams at this and blushes slightly. "I should really get back to work. It's been nice chatting with you again, Rachel." Rachel bends, scribbling quickly before thrusting the piece of paper back at Quinn. Quinn doesn't glance down at it but folds it and stows it in her pocket. The two share another look before Quinn leaves.

"Bye, Alex," Rachel calls and closes the door, retiring to her couch where she lies down and tries to control her breathing.

Quinn hurries to the nearest bathroom, greeting a few of her new 'friends' as she passes. Once she's locked in a stall, she retrieves the piece of paper. Rachel has scribbled a number and an address. And a time. _8pm_.


	3. Chapter 3

After taking out her contacts, Quinn slips out of her clothes, patting the heavy pockets of her jacket for the letters she won't be requiring just yet. She slides the envelopes out and weighs them in her hand before tossing them on her bed, reminding herself to put them in her desk drawers later.

She dresses quickly, ignoring the ache in her leg that has been present at the end of every day of her days on set so far and grabs her keys and helmet after shrugging on her favourite leather jacket. Her watch reads 7:47. It's time to speak to Rachel.

**xxxxx**

Rachel eyes her phone warily. The caller ID is withheld and she normally rejects these calls but it might be Quinn. She snatches it off the couch and raises it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks, briefly considering if she should have used a different accent.

"Rachel, it's Quinn. I'm a few blocks away. Do you have a garage or somewhere I can park my bike?" Rachel quickly gives her directions to the underground parking near her apartment before hanging up and standing up to watch for Quinn's arrival. She smoothes down her shirt and jeans, wondering if she should have dressed up a little more before berating herself internally for thinking that the other woman would actually care about what she's wearing. A black motorcycle tears past her building and she jumps a little. Quinn emerges from the garage a few seconds later, unfastening her helmet as she walks towards Rachel's building.

Quinn takes the stairs two at a time to Rachel's floor and knocks quickly on the door. The brunette pulls it open and steps to the side, a nervous smile on her face.

"Hey," Quinn says, pulling out a device not entirely dissimilar from a cell phone and striding quickly into the lounge. "How are you?" Rachel closes the door and follows with a bemused expression on her face.

"I've been better… what are you…" Quinn holds up a hand and shakes her head, lifting the receiver on the phone and running the device over the mouthpiece. "How are you?"

"Great," Quinn says distractedly as she replaces the receiver and climbs up onto the table in the middle of the room. "Tired though. These long shoots are killer compared to my last couple of jobs."

Rachel watches with interest as Quinn darts around the room, sweeping for bugs and hidden mics. As much as the former blonde thinks she's in charge of looking after Rachel, it wouldn't be the first time someone higher up has introduced extra security measures without telling her.

She glances at the device and smiles.

"All clear," she says, unzipping her jacket and placing it on the end of the couch next to her helmet.

"So, it isn't your job to bug my trailer and my apartment?" Rachel asks, leaning against the doorframe, trying not to stare at the scar on Quinn's forearm again. Quinn hesitates and pulls the sleeve of her shirt down, covering the scar.

"The bugs in your trailer are a necessary precaution," Quinn says and scowls at how harsh she sounds. "Sorry." Quinn glances around the space and gestures. "It's nice."

"It's rented," Rachel replies matter-of-factly. "It'll do." They share a quick smile. "Have you eaten? I was about to…" Rachel nods in the direction of the adjoining kitchen.

"You learned to cook?" Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow. Rachel feels her mouth run dry and clears her throat. The look is so distinctly _Quinn_.

"Grudgingly," Rachel says. "But I was going to suggest take-out. I don't want to poison you."

"I can assure you that I'll have eaten worse," the former blonde jokes, folding her arms loosely across her chest. "Take-out sounds good. I should have taken something. I didn't think…" Quinn blushes slightly and reaches up to scratch the back of her head subconsciously. Rachel waves her away and heads for the kitchen, returning moments later with various take-out menus.

"This place is good," Rachel says, pointing to the menu on top and handing them over to the blonde. "Can I get you a drink? Water? Juice? Tea?"

"Nothing stronger?" Quinn asks. "Aren't all Broadway actresses able to hold their liquor?" Rachel rolls her eyes in response.

"Juice it is," she says, disappearing into the kitchen again. Quinn settles down on the couch and reads over the menus quickly.

"I'm a little shocked you haven't started the intense questioning," Quinn quips when Rachel returns and sets two glasses on the table next to the couch. "I fully expected to be tied to a chair and interrogated the second I stepped inside."

"My technique is a little more subtle than that, Quinn," Rachel says, sitting down in the armchair across from the blonde. The distance that the brunette has put between them hasn't gone unnoticed by Quinn but she doesn't comment on it. "So what do you want?"

"Huh?" Quinn asks, staring at Rachel, wondering how honest to be with her answer. "I… um…"

"For dinner?" Rachel asks, brow wrinkled as she watches Quinn stammer.

"Oh. Um. Thai's good. Chicken Pad Thai?" Quinn passes Rachel the menus she's holding and watches the brunette leave the room to order the food in. She takes in her surroundings again. On the bookshelves in the corner, she spies photographs that she's been too preoccupied to notice up until now. She slides off the couch and crosses the room.

The faces of Rachel's dads beam out at her from one of the photographs. There's another of Rachel and Kurt dressed up: Rachel in a red dress, Kurt in a tux. His hand is wrapped tightly around her waist and they're grinning at each other. Quinn feels a jolt inside despite knowing that Kurt is Rachel's closest friend and that their friendship has only ever been platonic. Quinn's stomach twists again when she sees the photo of Brittany and Santana, Brittany flashing a ring for the camera.

There are other people Quinn doesn't know by name but that Rachel has described in her letters. Former castmates from Broadway, classmates from school.

Quinn turns her attention back to the photograph of Brittany and Santana, picking it up. A photo dislodges from the back of the frame and flutters to the ground. Quinn kneels down to pick it up spotting her handwriting on the back. She whips it around to find the laughing faces of a teenaged Rachel and herself staring back at her.

"Oh, I thought I'd put that away," Rachel says, freezing in the doorway when she sees Quinn holding the photograph.

"Who gave you this?" Quinn asks, swallowing deeply, tracing her finger over the photograph.

"Natasha," Rachel says. "At your funeral." She smiles sadly as she says this. "Words I never thought I'd hear myself say."

"Natasha," Quinn whispers. "So you got the letter, the letter I didn't get to finish?" Rachel nods. Quinn bites her lip and glances back at the photograph. "I wrote that on the day of the explosion."

"But it's not the day you died," Rachel states.

"No. They made it look as though my body was taken by civilians and then found…" Quinn stops herself, closing her eyes. "Sorry."

"I want to know," Rachel says earnestly. "I want to know everything."

"That's not something I can promise," Quinn says, placing the photographs back on the shelves. "Not yet."

"You need to tell me something, Quinn," Rachel says, sitting down on the couch this time. Quinn joins her, making sure there's still space between them, and stares down at her hands, flexing her fingers. "I've already given you my word that I won't tell anyone. I can't tell anyone."

Quinn takes a deep breath and turns to look at Rachel.

"I'm a secret agent."

Silence. Rachel stares at Quinn for roughly a minute before bursting into giggles. Quinn is surprised at first, watching the small brunette shake as the giggles rock her body. When she finally stops gasping for air, Rachel notices that Quinn is frowning at her.

"Like James Bond?" Rachel asks. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Yes, Rachel, I'm like James Bond," she says, still pouting.

"Fabray, Quinn Fabray," Rachel intones in a British accent, bursting into giggles again.

"Rachel, I'm serious," Quinn says, reaching over to take the brunette's hand. "I'm the one who's been assigned to figure out who's sending you those notes and who's threatening production." Rachel's face immediately grows sombre and her jaw drops slightly. She recovers quickly though, a mask sliding over her features.

"You're serious," she says.

"What other explanation have you concocted for me being here?" Quinn asks, releasing the brunette's hand reluctantly.

"I have two," Rachel says, holding up a finger and getting ready to launch into her lengthy reasons as to why Quinn Fabray, who died four years ago, is currently sitting on her sofa. She's stopped by the doorbell and looks disappointed before hopping off the couch to answer the door.

"Hello?" she asks pressing a button on the intercom, getting ready to buzz the delivery person in.

"I've been calling your cell for fifteen minutes, Rachel. Hurry up and let me in!" Kurt's voice calls over the speaker. Rachel feels the blood drain out of her face and reaches out to steady herself against the wall. "Rachel?" Rachel opens her mouth and stares at the intercom. There's the sound of a door opening and Kurt thanking one of Rachel's neighbours.

"Shit," she mutters running back to the lounge. "Kurt." Quinn stares at her and then leaps off the couch.

"What?" she exclaims.

"He's here. He's in the building," Rachel whispers loudly as though Kurt would be able to hear their conversation from the elevator.

"Why did you let him in?" Quinn asks, gathering up her jacket and helmet.

"I didn't. One of my neighbours did. You need to hide. You're supposed to be dead!" Rachel says, steering Quinn by the arm into her bedroom. Kurt has started knocking on the door and Rachel looks panicked.

"Calm down, Rachel," Quinn says, putting a hand on the shoulder of the almost hyperventilating brunette. "It's okay. I'll be in the closet." _Ironic_, Quinn thinks to herself as she opens the wardrobe. She shoves her helmet and jacket on the top shelf which is empty and settles herself on the floor among Rachel's shoes and bags.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel says. Quinn shrugs and smiles.

"Try not to leave me here all night," Quinn says, pulling the door closed, resting her head against the back of the wardrobe and sighing heavily as Rachel's footsteps retreat.

Rachel pulls the door open and grins at Kurt who responds by sweeping her up into a bone crushing hug.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel squeaks out after Kurt releases her.

"Problems with one of the designers," he says rolling his eyes. "I arrived at lunchtime, spent the afternoon in meetings and I fly back to New York at some ungodly hour in the morning. I remember you saying that you're on day shoots at the moment so I figured you'd be around and maybe lacking company for the evening…" he's walked into the lounge and spotted the two glasses resting on the table next to the couch. "Or maybe not…" He turns to Rachel with an excited smile on his face. "Do you have someone here?" he whispers.

"No!" Rachel exclaims. "I just poured myself a glass. The other one must be from last night."

"Shame," Kurt says. "So this place is nice." He glances around. "Good view."

"It'll do," Rachel says. "It's just another five months then it's back to good old New York."

"It definitely misses you," he replies. "Show me around!"

"Lounge, kitchen," Rachel gestures to the two rooms then down the hall. "Bathroom and bedroom."

"I forgot the most important question," Kurt says, high-tailing it to the bedroom. Rachel chases after him, watching with horror as he wrenches the wardrobe doors open. Her heart skips a couple of beats when she realises Quinn isn't there. "It's a little small." He turns around, a pout on his lips. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The doorbell interrupts them and Rachel walks back into the hallway to let the delivery man into the building, wondering to herself where the hell Quinn has gone.

"Take-out? Rachel…" Kurt admonishes as she rummages through her bag to find some money.

"I know, I know," Rachel says, glancing back into the bedroom as she walks to the front door. Quinn's face is barely visible beneath the bed, a smile on her lips. Rachel huffs to herself, glad that someone's enjoying themselves this evening. She pays the delivery man and carries the food to the kitchen where Kurt is pouring himself a glass of water. He eyes the bag of food warily.

"That's a lot of food for one person, Rach," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "Not that I mind. You need to eat more."

"Just hungry," Rachel says, pulling out the containers. Kurt lifts the lid on the first one.

"Uh… chicken Pad Thai?" he asks. Rachel stares blankly at him. "You're a vegan, Rachel."

"Right," Rachel says quickly. "They must have… messed up my order or something. Do you want it instead?" Kurt's eyes narrow slightly.

"What are you hiding from me?" he asks, covering her hand with his and squeezing it. "Usually if a place gets your order wrong, you jump down their throats. I haven't seen you this twitchy since you found out they're doing a revival of Rent…"

"I can't tell you," Rachel says, turning her gaze towards her own container of food. She waits for Kurt to launch into a tirade about how they shouldn't keep secrets from one another and that he's never once kept a secret from her but he's silent. "I'm sorry. Look, I'll be back in a couple of minutes…" Rachel leaves the kitchen in a hurry and heads back to her bedroom. She closes the door and drops to her knees, pulling Quinn from under the bed.

"He's staying for dinner," Rachel hisses. "You need to go." Quinn springs lightly to her feet.

"I can wait," Quinn says, turning to walk to the closet again.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asks.

"Shit," Quinn mutters as she hears quick footsteps coming along the hallway. The bedroom door flies open before she can launch herself back into the wardrobe.

"Rachel, what are you…?" Kurt tails off as he notices the brunette with her back to him. "So you _were _hiding someone…" Rachel looks stricken and tries to stop Quinn from turning to look at the man.

"Hi Kurt," the former blonde says simply.

Kurt's jaw drops and Quinn swears that she sees his eyes bulge a little, just like in a cartoon. He glances back and forth between Quinn and Rachel for at least thirty seconds, mouth still agape. Rachel pushes past Quinn but she's too late. Kurt falls to the floor, knocking his head against the doorframe.

Quinn grimaces and bends down to scoop him up, placing him gently on Rachel's bed.

"I kind of expected you to do that," Quinn directs this at Rachel as she adjusts a pillow beneath Kurt's head.

"I almost did," Rachel says softly. "I'll get some ice."

"I'll get it, you stay here," Quinn says, shaking her head as she leaves the room. Her boss is probably going to murder her when he finds out about this. Which he will. Kurt Hummel is not known for his secret keeping abilities. At least, the Kurt she remembers isn't. The Kurt that Rachel wrote about in her letters was kind and generous and sounded as though he'd take a bullet for the brunette. The jolt in Quinn's stomach reminds her that she might have to do that. And that she wants to.

Quinn retrieves an ice pack from the freezer and grabs a forkful of the rapidly cooling food on the counter as she passes. She's grown used to going without substantial meals while on missions but now that she's living a somewhat 'normal' life, her body demands food regularly.

Kurt is awake when she walks into the room.

"…strangest dream… Quinn…" he gapes at the figure in the doorway again and turns back to Rachel. "You see her too, right? It's not just me?" He actually looks scared and Quinn realises that this is a normal human reaction. A frown crosses her features as she wonders briefly why Rachel didn't react this way.

"I do," Rachel says, stroking his forehead. Quinn passes her the ice pack and Rachel presses it to Kurt's temple. Quinn folds her arms and leans against the doorframe, her jaw set as she watches the scene in front of her.

"This might sound a bit stupid," he says, still looking at Rachel. "But _why_ is she here?"

"We were just discussing that when you arrived actually," Rachel says, glancing over at Quinn.

"Might as well tell him," Quinn says resignedly. "Of course, I'll have to kill you both." Her attempt at humour fails. Rachel scowls at her and Kurt visibly pales, which is an achievement for the already chalk-white man.

"Quinn is working as an extra on my film," Rachel says.

"Right," Kurt says, nodding and wincing. Rachel pushes the ice pack back against his head. "That makes no sense."

"Well, she hasn't exactly explained _why_ she's working there," Rachel says. "Just that she's a…" Rachel glances over at Quinn again who takes a deep breath.

"I'm a secret agent," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. Kurt stares at her in shock.

"I thought you were in the army," he says. "I thought you were dead. We all did." He looks pointedly at Rachel. "I can't believe you didn't tell me…"

"Would you have believed me?" Rachel asks him. "I spent last night trying to convince myself that I'm not clinically insane."

"I guess that's a fair point," he concedes. "How do you know that we're not both clinically insane?" Quinn rolls her eyes at this and leaves her position in the doorway to cross the room and lightly tap Kurt's head. "Poltergeists can move objects…," he counters.

"I'm not dead, for fuck's sake, Kurt," Quinn explodes suddenly. Rachel stares at her with wide eyes and Quinn draws back, wrapping her arms around her body. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Rachel slides off the bed and walks to Quinn who looks as though she's getting ready to bolt out the door.

"Ignore him," Rachel says, placing a hand on the other woman's arm. Quinn exhales heavily, her eyes locking with the shorter brunette's, and nods. "Are you calm now?" Quinn nods again, impressed that Rachel has even approached her after yelling at Kurt the way she did. "Let's go sit down, eat some dinner and you can tell us why you're here. Does that sound okay?" Quinn nods wordlessly, turns and heads towards the lounge. Rachel turns to face Kurt, who still looks a little terrified.

"I'm glad to see she got her anger under control," Kurt murmurs.

"Please Kurt," Rachel says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How's your head?"

"I'll live," he says, pushing himself up into a sitting position. The pair walks into the lounge to find that Quinn has arranged the cartons of food on the table and is sitting on the armchair, leaving the couch free. Once they have settled themselves and started eating the food, which has gone cold, Quinn opens her mouth to speak.

"Everything I'm about to tell you will invariably get me fired so if you can keep this between yourselves, that would be great," Quinn says, glancing between Kurt and Rachel.

"You already have my word," Rachel says and nudges Kurt.

"My therapist already wants to lock me up for suggesting that she get some form of hair replacement surgery," he says. "And, like Rachel said, who would believe this? It's like something out of Days of Our Lives."

"I'm investigating the letters," she says. Rachel chokes on her rice as Kurt rounds on her.

"Letters? Rachel, you told me that was a lie," he says. "How many letters?"

"I don't know," Rachel says meekly, not meeting Kurt's eyes.

"Seven," Quinn supplies. "The latest was found in Rachel's trailer this morning."

"What?" Kurt exclaims. "Rachel, what the hell?"

"That's how you knew about the microphones in my new trailer," Rachel says to Quinn, ignoring Kurt's distress. Quinn nods. "Did you put them there?"

"No, I wasn't aware that you'd moved trailers until I arrived on set this morning. That decision was made by one of my colleagues. There are two of us working on the set, though he's not in front of the camera," Quinn says, allowing a smirk to cross her features. "Thank god for that. His ego doesn't need inflating."

"Shouldn't the police be involved?" Kurt asks. "They caught the last guy…"

"The last guy?" Quinn asks, eyebrows raised. "You've received letters before?"

"That was different," Rachel says. "He was a crazed fan. He was given a restraining order and I never heard from him again.''

"It could be a crazed fan this time too, Rachel," Quinn says. "Just because these letters have been linked to terrorist groups doesn't mean that that's the only possibility."

"So perhaps the police _should_ be involved?" Kurt asks. "Since I'm assuming you're not the police?" He directs this at Quinn who shakes her head.

"Not the police," she says. "And they were involved until the studio hired us to protect the set."

"You're clearly doing a stellar job if someone is managing to get into Rachel's trailer and leave threats," Kurt says, his voice rising in anger. Quinn's eyes flash and Rachel gets to her feet, standing between the two.

"Stop it," she says. "Both of you. You're behaving like teenagers."

"If she was doing her job properly, there wouldn't be any…" Kurt's words die in his mouth as Quinn gets to her feet.

"Rachel's alive, isn't she?" Quinn says. "Clearly I'm doing my job pretty damn well."

"I thought you were protecting the set," Kurt says. "Are you saying that you're more like Rachel's… bodyguard?" He quirks an eyebrow at the taller brunette. Quinn rolls her eyes as a smile spreads across his face and Rachel stifles a giggle, the tension evaporates from the room and Quinn drops back into the armchair, trying not to smile.

"Kurt, I swear…" Quinn begins but it's too late. Both he and Rachel have started to sing the theme from the early-90's blockbuster. Quinn covers her ears and waits for them to stop.

"Costner," Kurt says after they've finished and he's reached for a spring roll.

"Ha ha, funny," Quinn deadpans.

"Where's your sense of humour, Fabray?" Kurt asks, stuffing the spring roll in his mouth.

"It's Casey now, actually," Rachel says. "Alex Casey."

"That's something else I wanted to ask," Kurt says. "The funeral… was it all staged? Were the soldiers there in on it?" Quinn shakes her head, biting down on her lip, a frown creasing her forehead.

"As far as the military is aware, I'm dead," Quinn says. "Quinn Fabray doesn't exist in this world anymore." Kurt nods but the look he and Quinn share is a one of understanding, one that Rachel is entirely oblivious to. When this is over, when Quinn catches the bad guys and when the movie finishes filming, she'll disappear. And Kurt isn't sure that he'll be able to pick up the pieces again.

**xxxxx**

Kurt leaves at midnight telling Rachel for the hundredth time to be careful and to call him if there are more letters. Then he asks to speak to Quinn alone. Rachel gives them both a wary look before leaving the lounge, but only after Quinn has nodded.

"It's okay, Rach," she says. She and Kurt walk towards the front door. Kurt's hug comes out of nowhere and knocks the breath from Quinn's lungs.

"I'm glad you're alive," he whispers in her ear. "I am."

"Thanks, Kurt," Quinn says, her words sounding choked due to a lack of oxygen.

"You need to be careful with her," he warns. "She's not the same Rachel Berry you remember from high school. She doesn't brush off knocks the way she used to then, acting as though nothing hurts her. The others say that I mollycoddle her and they're right. She's probably the most important person in my life."

"I understand, Kurt," Quinn says.

"I'm not sure you do," he says plainly, a sad smile on his face. Quinn frowns but he shakes his head. "Please keep her safe for me?"

"I will," Quinn says. Kurt's second hug is weaker and then he's gone. The door closes behind him and Quinn rubs her hand across the back of her neck, limping slightly as she walks back to the lounge. Rachel spots the limp immediately and her expression turns to one of concern.

"Did he hurt you?" she asks. Quinn chuckles in response and shakes her head.

"Just my latest injury playing up," she says, reaching for her jacket. "I need to rest more. Or take some painkillers."

"What happened?" Rachel asks, her eyes darting to Quinn's leg again as the other woman shrugs on her jacket.

"I was shot," Quinn says simply.

"You were shot?" Rachel parrots, sitting down on the couch heavily.

"It's not the first time," Quinn says. "Though this one hurts a lot more. The first one was just a scratch."

"You've been shot more than once?" she says in a whisper. "Where?"

"Peru and Russia," Quinn says, deciding that there's no point in hiding things from Rachel anymore.

"I meant where…" Rachel gestures to Quinn's body forcing another chuckle from Quinn.

"Oh, the first one was here," Quinn points to the top of her right arm. "But literally a scratch. There's barely even a scar. I was clumsy. The second one… it was pretty unavoidable and the bullet… Rachel?" Rachel has started to sway slightly. Quinn sits down next to her, placing a hand on her back. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'll _be_ fine."

"You could get hurt though," Rachel says. "While you're looking after me."

"It's part of the job description," Quinn says with a shrug and a small smile. The smile fades when she realises that Rachel has started shaking. "Rachel, everything is going to be fine. I'm going to find out who's sending these letters. You don't need to worry."

Quinn leaves shortly after that, waving goodbye to Rachel as she takes the stairs to the ground floor. She pulls on her helmet as she crosses to the garage and spots Rachel watching her from the lounge window. After waving again, she wheels her bike out of the garage and zooms off back to her apartment, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest that comes every time she dredges up feelings from the past.

**xxxxx**

Rachel groans in frustration and rolls onto her side to glare at her alarm clock. The display glares back at her. She's been trying to sleep for nearly an hour. She should be sleeping. She's been on set every day this week, some days she was in front of the camera for fourteen hours doing take after take.

Despite loving being part of this movie, she really misses Broadway. She misses getting up onstage every night and belting out the same songs. Of course, more things can go wrong during live performances but that part thrills Rachel. She loves the adrenaline coursing through her veins as the audience stares at her, completely enraptured.

Rachel vows that after this movie, she'll head back to New York. Maybe she'll visit her dads. It's been a few months since they last came to visit her in the Big Apple. Her last trip to Lima, barring the funeral, had been five years ago to see Artie and Tina get married. It had been a short trip. She had arrived on Saturday morning and was on a plane by Sunday lunchtime. Lima had felt strange to her and, with the exception of her dads and Tina and Artie, she had no reason to visit the town.

Her thoughts turn to Quinn. It's been two weeks since they spent any time together away from the set, a rule that Quinn had imposed. Though she understands the reasons behind the rule, it feels like a kick in the face to her. Quinn disappeared from her life so abruptly four years ago and to have her back but not be able to see her is driving Rachel to distraction.

She reaches for her cell phone, fumbling as usual with the touch screen as she opens a new message. She usually embraces new technology with open arms but these phones are nothing but a pain in the neck for her. After switching the language back to English, she types out an unusually short message, scrolls through her contacts, most of whom she can't remember speaking to within the last year, and sends the message to Quinn.

_I can't sleep._

She lies back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling, waiting for a response. One doesn't come immediately and she starts to worry that Quinn's already asleep. Rachel closes her eyes, recalling Quinn's face perfectly. The eyes, though she's slowly getting used to the contacts, are always hazel and her hair is blonde again, falling just past the other woman's shoulders. In Rachel's imagination, Quinn smiles, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip. Rachel's eyes snap open as a pulse of frustration ripples through her body.

"Stop it," she whispers to herself. Quinn isn't interested in her, she tells herself. Not like that.

The phone beeps, vibrating in her hand and she smiles at the message. Better late than never, she thinks.

_Me neither._

**xxxxx**

Quinn throws down her pen in frustration, scattering the stack of letters and building plans that cover her desk. The court file that Michaels' had procured regarding Rachel's stalking case sits at the bottom of the pile. The man in question had been located and tracked then questioned and released. He had no knowledge of the letters and a lie detector test confirmed this.

It's been two weeks since Quinn revealed her identity to Rachel and Kurt and she's no closer to figuring out who is sending the letters. Another two had been discovered on the set but neither of them in Rachel's trailer. She's also relieved that Kurt has managed to keep his mouth shut judging by the conversations Rachel has had with Mercedes and Brittany.

_I can't sleep._

Quinn reaches for her phone, ready to answer the message Rachel had sent almost half an hour ago.

_Me neither._

It's a lie. Quinn could quite happily go to bed right now and sleep for days if she wasn't so annoyed at herself and if she didn't have to be on set in eight hours.

_I know we're not meant to talk to each other when we're not on set, but could you maybe come over for dinner tomorrow? I have the day off on Thursday._

The rule had been imposed by Quinn. Michaels' comments over Quinn and Rachel's closeness are less frequent but still present enough to make Quinn sure that she's being scrutinised by the other agent, more than she usually would be anyway.

_Are you cooking?_ Quinn grins to herself and leans back in her chair, stretching her arms out in front of her. Her shoulders pop satisfyingly.

_A new vegan restaurant opened a few blocks away and they deliver. If you're not going to feed yourself properly, I should at least force healthy food on you whenever you come over._

Quinn knows better than to argue with Rachel over her eating habits. She considers the offer of dinner and hesitantly picks up her phone again.

_Sounds good. Sleep well._

She pushes herself away from the desk and heads straight for her bed, collapsing on top of the sheets.

**xxxxx**

Rachel is already serving up plates of food when Quinn arrives the following evening.

"Wow," Quinn says, surveying the damage with a smile on her face. "Did you order enough food?"

"This is just in case Kurt decides to drop in again," Rachel says, handing a plate to Quinn. Quinn sniffs at it and winces slightly.

"It won't taste like those veggie chips, will it?" she asks. Rachel rolls her eyes and pushes Quinn towards the table set up in her lounge.

"You'll like it," Rachel says. "Sorry I didn't wait for you to get here. I was starving when I got home earlier."

"It's fine. I wouldn't have known what to order anyway," Quinn says, taking a seat and picking up her fork, staring helplessly at the food.

"It won't hurt you, Quinn," Rachel says. "And it's better than those chicken burgers you were devouring at lunchtime."

"And here I thought I was the one looking out for you," Quinn says with a smirk at Rachel's blush. "Do you make a habit of watching me?"

"Not especially," Rachel says. "I just like knowing you're there. It's comforting, I guess." Silence descends over the pair as they start to eat dinner. Quinn is surprised to find that the food is not only tasty, it's also filling. She finds herself running a hand over her stomach after she's eaten three-quarters of the food on the plate. "Good, right?"

"You might make a convert out of me," Quinn says, putting her fork down. Rachel looks pleased at this and finishes her food.

"It's the Emmys in two weeks," Rachel says and Quinn nods.

"I've already spoken to my boss about having a team in place for you," she says. "I've been reviewing building plans, figuring out where I should have people stationed." Rachel looks shocked for a second before letting a laugh escape from her mouth. "What?"

"You sounded so professional," she replies, composing herself. "So… this team, who will it consist of?"

"Michaels and three other agents," Quinn says, "And me, of course."

"Of course," Rachel says. "I'm taking Kurt."

"I thought you might," Quinn says with a nod. "You have to understand that I can't be seen with you at all that night." Rachel nods.

"I understand how this works, Quinn," she says a little wearily. "Camera pans to me, you're next to me, people might recognise you… downward spiral from there on." Rachel pauses, looking down at her empty plate for a few seconds. "You never told me why you took this job, knowing that I'd recognise you. Or at least knowing that there was a chance that I'd recognise you."

Quinn thinks about this although she's known that Rachel would ask this question eventually. The restraint that Rachel's shown with her lack of questions is impressive.

"I…"

They're interrupted by Rachel's phone and she sighs exasperatedly.

"If this is Kurt, I'll kill him," she says with a chuckle as she reaches for her phone and answers the call. "Hello?"

Quinn's smile dies as Rachel's face goes pale. The shorter brunette starts shaking her head, unable to form words. Quinn snatches the phone.

"Who is this?" she asks.

The voice on the other end of the line is robotic but still manages to sound mocking.

"Knock knock." The line goes dead and Quinn springs up from her chair, pulling her gun from the back of her jeans. She hears Rachel whimper at the sight of the gun but continues her walk to the window. She draws back the curtain as a black car disappears from view.

"Shit," Quinn mutters. "Rachel, stay here." Quinn races to the front door, yanks it open and freezes in her tracks. Her hand reacts first, grabbing her cell phone and barking 'Michaels' at it. He answers immediately. "I need you to get to Ms Berry's apartment as quickly as possible. Do not ask questions. Just do it." She snaps the phone shut and drops to her knees, eyes trying to take in the mass of wires and the clock, steadily counting down. "Fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn hears footsteps behind her and takes her focus away from the bomb for a second to look at Rachel, positioning her body so that the shorter woman can't see it.

"Rachel," she says calmly though inside her stomach is tightening in knots and her blood is rushing around her ears. "Rachel, look at me." Rachel's eyes are still trained on the gun. Quinn slides it into her back pocket slowly and turns back to the bomb. _23:15. 23:14. 23:13._ "Rachel, I need you to get a pair of scissors."

The ludicrousness of the statement appears to snap Rachel back to reality and then she notices the glowing red numbers on the display, still steadily counting down.

"Is that… is that…?" The question dies in her throat as her eyes go wide and she pushes a hand out against the nearest wall before she collapses.

"Rachel," Quinn is urging, "I need you to get me some scissors, please. It's going to be fine. Trust me." Rachel nods slowly and disappears from view, returning a few seconds later with a pair of scissors. "Thank you. Now I need you to get out of the building."

"I'm not leaving you here… with this," Rachel says and gestures wildly at the bomb, which she can't rip her focus from.

"Rachel, I need you to get out of the building now," Quinn says, her voice much firmer than it was before. "Please."

"What if they're still out there?" Rachel asks, eyes locked on the red numbers as they count away the seconds.

'_Shit',_ Quinn thinks to herself. She realises that Rachel is right. Just because she saw a car leave doesn't mean that there aren't others waiting outside. She doesn't have time to think of a solution because her phone starts ringing.

"Michaels," she answers.

"I'm outside," he says, "What's going on?"

"Code orange," she says through gritted teeth.

"Let me in!" he yells. Quinn stands up and reaches for the button next to the intercom. She hears his footsteps pounding up the stairs and he reaches the floor in less than ten seconds. "I have a lot of questions," he says, his eyes glancing between Quinn and Rachel who's standing a few feet away, eyes still trained on the bomb.

"Now isn't a good time," Quinn hisses through her teeth. "Can we move it inside? I don't want the neighbours to investigate…" Michaels assesses the device quickly and nods.

"They got it up here," he says.

_18:46. 18:45. 18:44._

"Rachel, can you go into the bedroom?" Quinn asks, turning towards the petite brunette, but she's already moved into the bedroom. Michaels lifts the bomb up slowly and follows Quinn inside. He puts it down on the table before pulling off his jacket and taking the scissors from Quinn. "What are you doing?" Quinn grabs the scissors back.

"You called me here for a reason," he shoots back. "I can diffuse this bomb. And, you know, we're running out of time." He gestures to the clock.

_17.01. 17.00. 16.59._

"Okay," Quinn relinquishes the scissors and watches Michaels get to work. Quinn can hear him muttering colours under his breath as he works out which wire goes where.

"It's always red or blue," Rachel pipes up from the doorway. She's ignored by the two agents crouched over the bomb.

"Not yellow…," Michaels says. Quinn pushes it to the side. "Green, orange." Quinn shakes her head.

"Red," Quinn says, "Or blue."

Quinn glances up at Michaels who nods in return. Rachel 'hmphs' from the doorway.

"Blue," Michaels says after another minute of staring at the bomb.

_9.34. 9.33. 9.32._

"Are you sure?" Quinn asks. He nods, opening the scissors and cutting the blue wire. Quinn screws her eyes closed, bracing herself for an explosion. When nothing happens, she cracks the left one open. Michaels is staring at the clock with a surprised look on his face. "You guessed, didn't you?"

"I was fifty percent sure…" he says with a mirthless laugh.

"You jackass," Quinn says, reaching over to push him.

"Is it safe?" Rachel asks from the doorway.

"Yeah," Quinn says. "We need to get the team over here," she whispers to Michaels. "These guys were in the building. They called but I only saw the rear fender of the car. It looked like a Mercedes, but it was too dark to tell the model."

"What about Ms Berry?" Michaels asks, nodding at Rachel.

"Until I talk to the boss, she's going to stay at my place," Quinn says in a voice that Michaels knows not to argue with. "We'll talk in the morning."

"I'll call Jackson," Michaels says and walks into the kitchen. Quinn can hear him making the necessary phone calls and walks over to Rachel who's still frozen in the doorway, her eyes focused on the bomb.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"There's a disarmed bomb in my lounge, Qu…" Rachel shakes her head, remembering that Michaels is in the next room. "Alex. I'm _not_ okay." Quinn catches Rachel before she falls over, wrapping her strong arms around the shaking brunette.

"I've got you," Quinn murmurs, lifting Rachel up and carrying her to the bedroom. "It's okay. You're going to come and stay at my apartment." She sits with Rachel on her lap, grimacing at the pressure on her thigh and wraps her arms around her again, rocking her gently back and forth. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Rachel."

"What if you hadn't been here?" Rachel's voice is a whisper.

"Don't think like that," Quinn answers. "The important thing is that I was here. I was here and things are fine." Michaels appears in the corridor and clears his throat.

"They're on their way. Protocol dictates that I have to call…" he lets his sentence trail out. "You should tell him that Ms Berry called me first. That she was given an emergency number."

Quinn stares at him, momentarily shocked.

"You don't have to lie for me," she states.

"I know," he shrugs. "I'm going to clear up in the lounge. It can't look as though you were here before the bomb was discovered. I'll handle the team when they get here, if you want to take Ms Berry to your apartment."

Quinn is going to argue, tell him that she's the one who should speak to the team, but leaving Rachel alone doesn't appear to be an option right now, so she just nods.

"Thank you," Quinn says. Michaels gives her a quick smile. "I owe you one."

"Nah," he replies. "I owed you one. For Russia. Your arm."

The pair shares a nod then Michaels leaves. Quinn can hear him in the lounge, clearing away one set of plates.

"Rachel, I'll be back in two minutes," Quinn says. "Is that okay?"

She feels the smaller brunette nod against her chest and she slides off Quinn's lap. Quinn watches as she opens the cupboard next to her bed and retrieves a small pouch. Rachel plucks a pill out and swallows it dry.

"Anxiety relief," Rachel says off Quinn's look. "You'll be grateful later."

Quinn doesn't respond and leaves Rachel on the bed, heading through to the lounge. Michaels is in the kitchen, opening cupboards and putting away plates and cutlery.

"I mean it, Michaels, thanks," Quinn says, leaning against one of the counters.

"You owe me an explanation," he sighs, folding the towel and placing it on the counter. "Like, a big explanation."

"I know," Quinn says. Her phone starts to ring and she flips it open. "Casey," she barks.

"Alex, it's Jackson," the friendly voice responds.

"I'll be down in a sec," Quinn says, closing her phone again. "Can you stay here with Ra… Ms Berry?"

"Sure," he says. "Got your story straight?"

"Yeah," Quinn replies. "They called, Rachel spotted a black car out the window, she went to the door, she discovered the bomb and she called the emergency number that was issued to her. You called me, we arrived at roughly the same time. We took the bomb into the apartment and you disarmed it. Then you called for Jackson."

"You might want to put a bit more life into that performance," he says with a roll of his eyes. Quinn stalks out of the room and finds Rachel rummaging around in her wardrobe, a suitcase open on her bed.

"Rachel," Quinn says. "The team is here. I have to go down and talk to them before they come up here to remove the bomb. Michaels will be in the apartment."

Quinn crosses the room and tugs at Rachel's shoulder. Rachel turns to face her, rubbing the tears from her eyes. Quinn feels a tug deep in her chest and pulls Rachel tight against her body.

"I should come with you," she says. "I can show them where the car went." Quinn scrutinises the shorter woman for a few seconds and nods.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asks.

"I don't want you to leave me," Rachel's voice is enough to convince Quinn that she wouldn't be able to leave the brunette anyway, not like this.

"Okay," Quinn says with a decisive nod. The pair makes their way down the stairs slowly while Quinn explains what questions the team will ask her and that she should keep her answers short and to-the-point.

"No rambling," Rachel says.

"You don't do much of that nowadays anyway," Quinn notes, placing her hand on Rachel's back as she leads her out the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Jackson is directing his team to the street and to patrol the perimeter of the building. Three men are sent inside as Rachel and Quinn exit. Rachel's step falters as she takes in the imposing man who's about a foot and half taller than her, has a severe buzz cut and a savage scar running from his temple to his jaw line.

"Alex," he says, a grin crossing his features as he makes his way over to the pair. "You're looking well." He pulls her into a one-armed hug, crushing her against his chest. "It's been a while huh? Beijing, right?"

"Ow, Jesus, Jay," she says, pushing away from him. "Could you at least try to be professional? There are civilians all over the place."

"Of course, Casey," he says, sticking out his tongue before his expression grows serious. "So, Michaels wasn't particularly clear on the details. Can we step into my office?" He gestures to the van behind him and waits for Rachel and Quinn to get in before climbing in next to them. Rachel glances around at the equipment lining the walls before focusing her attention back on the Agents.

"Ms Berry, this is Agent Jackson," Quinn says. "Jackson, this is Rachel Berry."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Jackson says, extending his hand to Rachel. She shakes it silently. "You're in good hands with Agent Casey. She's helped me out of a jam more than once."

"This is the first time I've met Agent Casey," Rachel says. "I'm glad to hear she comes highly recommended."

"Michaels and I have been working under need-to-know," Quinn tells Jackson who frowns in response before his expression lightens again.

"I trust this woman with my life," Jackson says to Rachel. "And I'm totally digging the new haircut." He winks at Quinn who reaches forward to smack him on the shoulder. He grimaces. "And she packs a pretty good punch too."

"Jackson!" Quinn barks.

"Right," he says, turning back to Rachel who looks a little pissed off at the exchange. "Ms Berry, can you relay exactly what happened? Michaels gave me an overview but it always helps to have it first-hand."

"They called my cell phone while I was eating dinner," Rachel says. "They told me that they were coming for me and that I should look outside. I saw a black car but it was too dark to tell what kind of car it was. I was about to leave the apartment, go somewhere safe and the bomb was outside the door." Rachel pauses, more for dramatic effect than anything else.

"And you called for assistance immediately?" Jackson asks. Rachel nods.

"I was given a number to call… Agent Michaels, the one upstairs, answered and he alerted Agent Casey. They arrived and diffused the bomb."

"Do you have any idea where they would have found your cell phone number?" Jackson asks. Rachel shakes her head. His phone rings and he snaps it open, listening intently for a few seconds. "Got it."

He closes the phone again and smiles at Quinn. "Your bomb was a fake."

"What?" Quinn asks, her mouth dropping open.

"A very good fake," he says. "It looks like someone was trying to scare you." He directs this at Rachel.

"Well, it worked," Rachel says, feeling her hands tremble.

"Ms Berry is going to stay at my apartment until I have discussed matters with the boss," Quinn interjects, sensing correctly that Rachel is about to break down into tears again.

"Good idea," Jackson says. "My team will stay in position through the night and we'll report back to you first thing in the morning. We'll take the bomb for fingerprinting."

"Good," Quinn says. Jackson gets out of the van first and holds the door open for Rachel to get out. Michaels and the other agents appear with the dismantled 'bomb' and load it into the trunk of another car belonging to the team. Rachel wraps her arms around her body, watching them.

"Why has the boss got you on need-to-know for a babysitting job?" Jackson whispers to Quinn, eyeing Rachel carefully. "I thought it was standard for the mark to know who's protecting them…"

"Beats the hell out of me," Quinn responds with a shrug. "Probably didn't think it was going to get this serious." Jackson gives her a sceptical look. "Ms Berry and I will get out of your way as soon as possible."

"That would be appreciated, Agent Casey," he responds light-heartedly. "I'll call you in the morning after we're done finger-printing."

"Try not to wake the neighbours," Quinn says, walking to Rachel and guiding her back to the building.

**xxxxx**

Rachel panics for a second when she wakes up before realising that she's in Quinn's apartment, in Quinn's bed. Minus Quinn, who had slept on the couch despite Rachel's protestations that she should be the one to sleep in the lounge. Quinn's stubbornness had won out and Rachel had took the bed. She gazes blearily at the clock on the bedside table and panics again. It's nearly noon and she should be on-set. Then remembers that she has the day off. The memory of the fake-bomb last night screams back into her memory.

She shakes her head trying to force the image of the red numbers from her mind. Even knowing that the bomb couldn't have hurt her, she is now fully aware of how dangerous the situation is. People are trying to hurt her. She reaches for the glass of water next to the bed and gulps hurriedly, trying to wash away the tears that seem to be forever building at the corners of her eyes.

Her phone blares to life, Kurt's name flashing on the screen, a photo of him grinning up at her.

"Hello sunshine," he says after Rachel's hands have stopped shaking enough to allow her to answer. "Rach? Is everything okay?"

"Not exactly," she says.

"Where's Qu…" he hesitates. "Where's Alex? Did something happen?"

Rachel is unable to answer, her eyes closing as she tries to stop the tears.

"Hey."

Rachel feels arms surround her and Quinn's fingers wrestling the phone from her grasp.

"Kurt, it's me," Quinn says. "No, we had a situation last night." Quinn pauses. "She's staying at my apartment until further notice. I can't tell you that right now. You don't need to come down, everything is completely under control. I'm not letting her out of my sight, you have my word."

Rachel feels Quinn's hand start to rub circles across her back and leans against the taller woman, burying her head against Quinn's chest.

"She'll call you later, is that okay?" Rachel listens to Quinn's heartbeat, finding it soothing. "I'll tell her. Please don't worry. Okay. Bye." Quinn hangs up and places the phone on the bed. "Kurt says that he loves you." Quinn's voice sounds a little strained to Rachel but she shrugs it off, pressing herself closer to Quinn. "I've spoken with Michaels this morning. He's talked to your people and the production team. They've given you until Monday, to give you time to 'deal', I guess. Your agent will be here at some point this afternoon."

"Can I stay here? I don't want to go back to that apartment," Rachel says.

"Of course," Quinn says, "I've already ordered a set of furniture for the other bedroom." Rachel ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and pulls away from Quinn.

"What about on set? What will happen there?" Rachel asks.

"They're going to kill my character," Quinn says. "My attention will solely be on you. Apparently I'm going to be pretty easy to get rid of." Quinn lets herself smile and Rachel finds a grin working its way across her features. "I have no idea how terrifying last night must have been for you. I'm used to seeing guns and bombs and Jackson… but if you need to talk about it, I'm here. You have to know that you're safe with me, Rachel. You can trust me."

"I do," Rachel responds.

"I was going to cook lunch," Quinn says. "But I have nothing suitable for vegans. So maybe we could go shopping? And I can attempt to make you something edible?"

Rachel freezes at the idea of going outside.

"You can't hide inside forever, Rachel," Quinn states. "I won't let you."

"But if I'm recognised… I can't deal with that today," she begins, stopping when Quinn starts shaking her head.

"Then we make you unrecognisable," Quinn says, sliding off the bed. "Step into _my_ office." She pulls Rachel off the bed towards the bathroom down the hall. On the counter, Quinn's already set out wigs, prosthetic noses, contacts, glasses, fake teeth, hats… anything that will help Rachel become less Rachel.

"This is surreal," Rachel says, taking a seat on the stool.

"Welcome to my life," Quinn observes, picking up a bleached blonde wig and plopping it on Rachel's head.

**xxxxx**

As Quinn predicts, the shopping trip goes off without a hitch and in the evening, they sit down to eat the former blonde's first home cooked vegan meal. Rachel is exhausted from the hour she spent with her agent trying to convince the woman that she feels safe enough with Quinn looking after her, that more security measures aren't needed, but tucks into the meal with gusto.

"This looks amazing, Quinn," Rachel says. "It really means a lot that you cooked this for me. Mercedes always complains when we go out for vegan food."

Quinn stares at her plate for a long time, pushing around her food with her fork, a pensive frown on her face.

"How's she doing?" she asks finally.

"She's great," Rachel says with a grin. "She's engaged to a really great guy. They're getting married next August. And professionally, the woman is a powerhouse. I can't even remember half of the movies and TV shows she's done costumes for."

Quinn figures she might as well rip the band-aid off completely.

"And Brittany and Santana? They're doing alright too?" the strain that Rachel had detected earlier in the former blonde's voice has returned. "They're engaged?"

"We don't have to talk about them… if it's going to upset you," Rachel says quietly.

"It doesn't upset me," Quinn insists, "I just haven't thought about any of them in a long time. It was too hard to keep thinking about them."

Rachel notes the use of the word 'them' and assumes that she isn't included, which means Quinn had thought about her. The butterflies in Rachel's stomach start to flutter.

"Santana is a partner at a huge law firm," Rachel says. "The youngest partner in decades, not that it surprised any of us. She's one of the smartest people I know. And Brittany helps a friend run an animal shelter."

"That's great," Quinn says as enthusiastically as she can, pausing before asking her next question. "Do you visit Lima often? Do your dads still live there?"

Rachel realises this is a roundabout way of Quinn asking if she knows how her family is.

"I don't get a chance to go home very often, but my dads are fine. They're both looking forward to retiring in a few years, I think they're going to start travelling," Rachel pauses. "Your sister got married last year."

"I know," Quinn says abruptly. "And my mom? Do you…?" Rachel shakes her head.

"My dads sometimes see her around town and they say hello, but nothing more," Rachel says. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Quinn says, taking a deep breath. "Our parents didn't exactly move in the same circles. What about Finn?"

"He's married," Rachel's voice darkens slightly. "He lives in Columbus with his wife and their baby. She's almost a year old now. Finn and I don't talk."

"Why?" Quinn asks quickly, her eyes locking with Rachel's. "I mean, you never wrote about him. I just assumed that things didn't work out after high school."

"We didn't make it to senior year," Rachel says with a shrug. "We had an argument and things just fell apart from there. He quit Glee and we ignored each other until graduation. Then I went to New York, he went to UCLA. The only time I saw him was at your funeral. He called me to tell me after your mom and sister found out."

"Must have been one hell of a fight."

"Yeah, it was," Rachel nods, recalling the exact expression on Finn's face as he had accused her of loving Quinn more than she loved him. She shrugs. "Noah threatened to punch him for me."

"So you ended up with Puck then?" Quinn asks, not really wanting to know the answer to that question.

"Quinn, I was single for the rest of my high school experience," Rachel says. Quinn nods, finding herself incredibly relieved.

"They didn't deserve you anyway," Quinn says, taking another bite of her food. Rachel quirks an eyebrow at Quinn but doesn't respond. They finish their meal in silence and move to the couch to watch the movies Quinn had rented earlier that day. Rachel falls asleep half an hour into the first one and Quinn doesn't see the rest of the movie. Her attention is completely on the woman sitting three feet to her left.

**xxxxx**

Quinn feels the first explosion rock the compound as she writes by torchlight in her bunk and she's on her feet in an instant, pulling on the bare essentials and following her half-asleep comrades. They're handed weapons and sent out into a dust storm, unable to see their own hands in front of their faces. Five more explosions rend the air and Quinn hears the screaming start. Her brothers and sisters are dying and there's not a damn thing she can do about it. She trips over a body, her gun flying out of her hands.

The next bomb lifts her off the ground, throwing her thirty feet, leaving her broken under the rubble. Using the little energy she has, she starts to push the rocks from her body, yelling for help…

Quinn sits up, her arms flailing as she comes back to reality. Rachel is standing in the doorway of the lounge, her hand covering her mouth, watching as Quinn checks her arms and hands.

"It was just a dream," she whispers, causing Quinn to whip around. She stares at Rachel, trying to figure out why the other woman is here, if she's still in some sick dream then remembers that she isn't in Iraq anymore. She isn't fighting a war. She's in her apartment. She lets out a shaky breath and struggles to take one in before throwing herself off the couch and running into the kitchen, gulping down water straight from the tap, soaking her head in the process.

She jumps when she feels Rachel's hand on her shoulder and rests her forehead on the edge of the sink, shutting off the water. Rachel pulls her upright and folds her into her arms. Quinn takes another shuddering breath and lets her arms snake around Rachel's waist.

"You were screaming," Rachel murmurs, running her fingers over a scar on Quinn's shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mutters. "It was so real. I haven't dreamt about that night before."

"Which night?" Rachel asks, unable to stop herself from clinging to the taller woman.

"The night I wrote your last letter," Quinn says. Rachel is silent for a while, humming softly as continues to run her fingers over the scar. Quinn feels her heart rate start to slow and her breathing returns to normal. She's about to disentangle herself from the smaller woman when she feels Rachel's lips brush over the skin left exposed by her tank top. Her body goes rigid and she breaks out of Rachel's hold. "You should go back to bed."

Rachel stares at the taller woman for a few seconds before turning on her heel and leaving the room. The bedroom door slams shut and Quinn sighs, running a hand over her face, getting rid of the drops left by the water.

**xxxxx**

Breakfast is a silent affair. Quinn is comfortable with the silence, mostly because she has no idea how to address what happened in the middle of the night. Rachel, however, fidgets the whole way through breakfast and breaks her silence while she's drying the dishes.

"About last night," she starts. Quinn nods, meaning for her to go on. "I'm really embarrassed. I made a complete fool out of myself. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Quinn blurts out, relieved that she gets to apologise for her actions.

"Why are you sorry?" Rachel asks with a frown. She hadn't been expecting an apology from Quinn at all, just acceptance because she messed up. She acted on impulse and it had completely backfired on her. If Quinn is apologising, is she sorry for pushing Rachel away?

"I…" Quinn falters, staring at the plate she's been mindlessly scrubbing for the past minute or so. "I must have given you some sort of signal that it was okay to…" Rachel's face falls and she scrunches up the tea towel in her hands. "Rachel, there are a million different reasons why I stopped you." Quinn passes the plate to Rachel.

"I get it," Rachel says, drying the plate and putting it away in the cupboard. Quinn doesn't respond, lost in her own thoughts, and Rachel dries the rest of the dishes in silence before leaving the kitchen, locking herself in the bedroom again. Quinn dries her hands and walks along the corridor.

"Rach?" She knocks on the door lightly after trying the handle. "Can you let me in?"

The lock clicks and Quinn pushes the door open. Rachel has returned to the bed and is sitting on the edge.

"Now I really am sorry," Quinn says. "I don't want to upset you but I can't seem to find the right things to say. I haven't had much practice with the whole _sharing_ thing. Not for a long time."

"Is it because of Jackson?" Rachel blurts out, taking Quinn by such complete surprise that she starts to laugh. Rachel's expression turns to one of hurt and she turns away from Quinn.

"Jackson," Quinn repeats. "We're just friends. Trust me." She looks horrified for a second. "Really trust me on that one."

"You seemed pretty close last night," Rachel says. "He actually reminded me of Noah."

"I can see why you think that," Quinn says with a nod, sitting down next to Rachel, smoothing out the wrinkles in her bedspread. "But seriously, Jackson and I are just friends. We've worked together a couple of times and we sometimes hang out if we're in the same city, but that's rare. He's ex-army too, so we've got stuff in common." Quinn smiles. "Are you jealous of him?" Rachel's lack of response gives Quinn her answer.

"So if it's not him, who is it?" Rachel asks, ignoring the question.

"There's no-one else. There's been no-one else," Quinn mutters, acting on her instinctual need to clam up whenever questions start to get too personal. When she pushes herself off the bed and walks out of the room leaving Rachel sitting on the bed, both women are more confused than ever.

**xxxxx**

When Rachel returns to the set, things ease off between the two women. Quinn becomes doggedly focused on finding out who's behind the letters and Rachel is fixated on not letting her nerves show in her performance. The Oscar speculation hasn't died down so she's feeling the pressure more than usual, despite protesting to Quinn that she doesn't care about the 'damn award'. She just wants the film to get made.

Michaels is present on the set most of the time too, watching for anything suspicious. Since the bomb scare, there have been no letters and Jackson's team had found nothing, not a finger print or a tyre mark to go on. True to her word, Quinn had explained everything to Michaels: how she's known Rachel for a long time and that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if this job got messed up by someone else. If anything, Quinn's revelation spurns Michaels on to figure out who's behind the letters too, though if he is being honest this has more to do with the longing looks Rachel casts at Quinn, and vice versa, whenever the other woman isn't looking her way. Despite the exterior he presents to the world, deep down, he's actually quite the romantic.

At home, Rachel spends her time learning her lines while Quinn continues to plan for the Emmys. She's increased the team from five to ten and feels confident that nothing will get past them.

"Do you think something will happen at the Emmys?" Rachel asks nervously, watching the muscles in Quinn's back tense from her position on the couch. Quinn tends to wear a lot of tank tops. Rachel figures it's because of the heat in LA, but she isn't going to complain even if the scar on Quinn's arm freaks her out a little.

"Not a chance," Quinn says, turning to give Rachel a smile.

"Then why do you look like you're planning some sort of military assault on the Nokia Theatre?"

"Better safe than sorry," Quinn says, standing up from the desk and joining Rachel on the couch. "I think I've got every possibility covered. Unless someone tries to beam you up through the ceiling." Rachel rolls her eyes at Quinn's attempt at humour. "I'm doing all of this so you can have a fun night with Kurt and your friends. Though now I might have to rework the entire thing. Maybe I could put Jackson on the roof…" Rachel chuckles and swats Quinn with her script.

"Funny," she says. "Is Jackson going to be there?"

"No," Quinn replies, shaking her head. "He draws far too much attention to himself as it is. He's generally more of a behind the scenes kind of guy. Especially after Beijing."

"Do I want to know what happened in Beijing?" Rachel asks warily. Quinn's expression hardens and she shakes her head again, feeling her teeth grind slightly.

"I'm not proud of some of the things I've done over the past few years," Quinn says slowly. "Beijing was… terrifying. None of us thought we'd get out alive. That's where I got this…" She gestures to the scar on the back of her leg.

"And is that where Jackson got his scar? The one on his face?"

"Yup," Quinn replies before shaking her head once more, shaking the memories away. Silence falls over them despite there being hundreds of things that both women want to say. Rachel turns her attention back to her script and Quinn tries to forget about that night in Beijing where she doubled her body count.

**xxxxx**

"Quinn," Rachel's voice interrupts her as she stares down at her shaking hands, the gun dropping onto the wet cement beneath her. The rain starts to wash the blood away and there's a searing pain shooting up her leg, "Quinn!" Now there are hands on her shoulders, tugging her away. Jackson is lifting her, sprinting towards the end of the alley and bundling her into a van. There's blood pouring from his face. She lies on the hard metal floor and begins to sob as the rest of her team watches in shocked silence, all of them bearing the marks of a hard-fought battle. "Quinn, wake up."

She opens her eyes, surprised to find herself staring up at Rachel. She blinks a few times, aware that her body is convulsing as she gasps for air.

"Quinn honey, breathe, it's okay," Rachel says, placing her hand on Quinn's cheek. "You're okay. I'm here." Quinn's eyes dart around the room and she tries to draw a deep breath. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Rachel pulls her up into a sitting position and draws her close. Quinn feels the little resolve she has left inside break and the tears start to flow again as she presses her face against Rachel's neck. "It was just a dream."

Quinn closes her eyes as she finally manages to draw in a deep breath, choking slightly as she sobs. Her hands grab at the front of Rachel's shirt, curling in the thin fabric as Rachel's fingertips trace the tattoo on the back of her neck.

"It was so real," Quinn murmurs, breathing heavily against Rachel's neck, feeling the shorter brunette shiver involuntarily. "I'm so sorry." Quinn shifts her head down, pressing her forehead against Rachel's shoulder, feeling Rachel's fingers run up into her short brown hair.

"You need to stop apologising," Rachel admonishes softly, trying to stop herself from tilting Quinn's face up towards hers. The longing to feel Quinn's lips on her own, to just give into her feelings, is too strong. Quinn's body shudders again and Rachel tightens her hold on the other woman, stroking the back of her neck.

"Thank you," Quinn says eventually, releasing her grip on Rachel's shirt. Rachel allows the taller woman to slip out of her hold and watches as Quinn wipes the remaining tears from her face, quelling the fire burning inside her, pushing her feelings away. Rachel reaches for Quinn's hand wordlessly and tugs her off the couch, pushing her towards the bedroom.

"Sleep," Rachel instructs, watching as a bewildered Quinn pulls back the covers and slips into the bed. Rachel clears up in the lounge and switches off the lights before returning to the bedroom. Quinn looks as though she's already fast asleep, facing the centre of the bed. Rachel changes quickly and joins the sleeping figure. As soon as she switches off the light, the mattress shifts and Quinn's arm comes to rest on her waist, pulling her over to the other side of the bed. Rachel entwines her fingers with the taller woman's and brings Quinn's hand up to her mouth, kissing the back of it gently. "Night." she whispers as Quinn presses her lips against the back of Rachel's neck.

"Night."

**xxxxx**

"So you slept with her?" Kurt hisses.

"No," Rachel says, pacing the floor in the lounge, phone pressed to her ear. Quinn is out grocery shopping, though Rachel really only needs soy milk. She figures that Quinn is using this time to sneak to the fast food restaurant on the corner for a bacon sandwich. "Yes. No… we didn't have sex."

"But you slept in the same bed? What did she say this morning?"

"Nothing," Rachel sighs. "Nothing about last night. She just asked if I needed anything from the store."

"That's it?" Kurt sounds disappointed. Rachel knows the feeling intimately. She stops by Quinn's desk, casting her eyes over the blueprints of the Nokia theatre, illegible words scrawled at various points on the pages, arrows pointing to exits.

"That's it," Rachel says despondently. "God, it's like we're back in high school or something. We're in our thirties, we should be able to talk about this."

"Then talk to her when she gets back," Kurt says, "Try to figure stuff out."

Rachel hums in agreement, not really listening to her best friend as he begins to ramble, before noticing that one of the drawers on the desk isn't closed properly and reaches down to pull it open slightly. Two envelopes stare back out at her; her name is written on the top one in Quinn's handwriting. Rachel frowns and reaches into the drawer, pulling the envelope out, weighing it in her hand.

"Kurt, I have to go," Rachel says distractedly cutting the man off mid-sentence.

"Rachel!" he protests but she's already ending the call and tossing the phone backwards onto the couch, still staring at the envelope. She pushes the drawer closed and falls heavily into the armchair nearest to the desk.

Quinn has written her a letter but hasn't given it to her. Her curiosity wins out. She flips the envelope over and tries to open it without ripping the paper. Her hands shake slightly as she removes the folded sheets. It's much longer than any of the letters Quinn had written to her. The excited feeling she got every time she found a letter from Quinn in her mailbox returns and she straightens up the pages, running her fingertips over the top page.

She's about to start reading the first page when Quinn returns.

"Rach, they didn't have soy…" Quinn stops dead in her tracks when she notices the guilty look on the brunette's face. "What are you…?" The question dies in her throat when she spots the letter in Rachel's hands, the envelope discarded on the floor next to the armchair. "Oh."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for the love so far everyone :) It's really appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh."**  
><strong>

The look of indifference on Quinn's face is not what Rachel had expected.

"Quinn…" she starts to say but words fail her. Quinn continues to stare at her, open-mouthed. "Quinn, I'm sorry."

"You went through my things," Quinn says in a strangled voice.

"I didn't mean to… the drawer was open and I saw my name… I haven't read any of it. Quinn, please understand, your letters meant so much to me and I thought…"

"You thought it would be okay to go through my desk?" Quinn asks. She isn't mad, or, at least, doesn't appear to be. Rachel feels white-hot shame rush over her body and climbs out of the armchair, meaning to go to the other woman but Quinn reaches her first, taking the letter out of Rachel's grasp. She thrusts the bag of food at Rachel. "I got you something," she mutters and stalks out of the room. Rachel hears a door slam and sinks back into the chair, clutching the bag of food to her chest.

Tentatively, Rachel opens the bag and spots the vegan cookies immediately. Her favourite brand. And the book she's been thinking about buying from the second-hand bookshop around the corner.

"Shit," Rachel exhales and pushes herself out of the armchair. The door to the spare bedroom, where Quinn had been sleeping up until last night, is closed. The short brunette is about to knock on the door but changes her mind and goes back to the lounge, sitting down at Quinn's desk and grabbing a blank piece of paper and a pen.

**xxxxx**

Quinn is lying on her stomach, fingers pulling at a thread which has come loose from her sheets. She knows she should apologise to Rachel for her overreaction; after all, Rachel did say that she hadn't read any of the letter and there's nothing in there that she doesn't want Rachel to find out. And she would have found out if Quinn had quit like she planned to. She would have left nothing behind except a letter telling Rachel her deepest, darkest secrets.

'_Coward,'_ she thinks to herself. Would she really have been able to live with herself, leaving Rachel to deal with that on her own?

"No," she mutters aloud to herself.

She remembers what Kurt had said to her, the look he had given her. He knew that at some point Quinn would have to leave and that he'd be left to pick up the pieces. Quinn has tried to avoid thinking about the day that she'll have to leave Rachel again but it's becoming more and more difficult to imagine being apart from her, especially since Rachel moved into her apartment.

She rolls off the bed, deciding that their time together is short enough without there being arguments between the two of them. They're both adults after all. They should be able to talk about things. It's Quinn's inability to talk about things that led her to write the letter in the first place.

Quinn quirks an eyebrow when she sees the piece of paper that's been pushed under the door, blank on the side facing her. She plucks it from the ground and turns it over, a surprised laugh tumbling from her lips.

_Dear Quinn,_

_I would be honoured if you'd consider joining me for dinner (don't worry, I'm not cooking) so that I can apologise profusely for invading your privacy._

_Rachel_

_P.S. I also apologise for being unable to draw anything except cartoon sheep. I seem to remember that drawing was one of your fortes at school._

Rachel has ended the note with a winking face which Quinn rolls her eyes at. Beneath the note is a sheep holding a bunch of flowers in its mouth. Quinn grins, shaking her head, before opening the door. Rachel is sitting on the couch, the cookies lying open next to her, the book open in her lap. She turns when she hears Quinn's footsteps and gets to her feet.

"I'm sorry."

They both speak at the same time and share a smile.

"Come here," Quinn says, pulling Rachel into a hug. "You're kind of a dork, Rachel Berry."

"I know," Rachel's voice is muffled against Quinn's chest.

"Dinner sounds great," Quinn says. "Better than those cookies anyway." She feels the shorter brunette start to laugh against her and closes her eyes, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest as butterflies erupt in her stomach.

**xxxxx**

Rachel notices that Quinn starts to withdraw slightly in the days leading up to Kurt's arrival. He'd offered to stay in a hotel but Quinn had insisted that he should stay at her apartment. She's already starting to regret her decision.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks, sliding off her glasses and throwing her script on the coffee table. Quinn looks up from the newspaper she picked up earlier that day on their way home from the set.

"Me?" Quinn asks, eyebrow rising in confusion.

"No, the other sullen teenager in the room, Quinn," Rachel says exasperatedly. "You've been dicing your foot incessantly for the past hour. It's distracting."

"Oh, sorry," Quinn says, glancing at her foot to find that it is bobbing up and down. "I didn't even realise."

"You've been acting moody all week," Rachel comments. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," is Quinn's immediate response. Rachel frowns at the other woman's harsh tone. "Sorry." The former blonde makes an apologetic face. "It's Kurt."

"Kurt," Rachel repeats. "What about Kurt?" Quinn makes another face, less apologetic this time, and turns back to her newspaper. "Quinn, are you five years old? Tell me what's wrong with my best friend."

"I'm sorry that not everyone has the same level of emotional maturity that you do," Quinn says, her foot starting to bounce again. She glances at it and it ceases immediately. Rachel continues to stare at the former blonde, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"You're jealous," she says suddenly, bursting into giggles. Quinn huffs and continues reading her newspaper, lifting it higher so that she doesn't have to look Rachel in the eye. "Quinn."

"Hmm," Quinn makes a non-committal noise and pretends to read the latest financial news though she has no interest in it whatsoever.

"Quinn," Rachel's voice is pleading now. Quinn lowers the paper and gives Rachel a look, eyebrow raised. Rachel feels a flutter somewhere deep inside and struggles to keep herself from lunging across the couch at the taller woman. "Kurt's gay, you realise that, right?"

"That's not why I'm jealous," Quinn says. "I know that you and Kurt… that you're not… that you've never…"

'_Jesus, Fabray, take longer to say a sentence,'_ her brain yells at her.

"I know that you two are just friends," Quinn finally spits out. "But that's just it. You have a best friend. I don't. I don't have anyone that I confide in. I can't speak to anyone about how my day was or what I'm doing this weekend. How would they react?" She places the paper in her lap and places a finger thoughtfully to her lips. "'Oh well, on Saturday I'm storming the Colombian parliamentary buildings and taking down a drug ring; then on Sunday, I might fly to Delhi and rescue the High Commissioners' daughter''. I mean I guess I have Michaels, but I'd really rather not divulge more about my life to him."

"You can talk to me," Rachel insists. "Just leave out all the gory parts and it'll be fine. Not that there are any gory parts to speak of right now…" Rachel looks pensive for a second.

"But you _are_ my day, Rachel," Quinn interjects, "And my weekends and everything else in between."

"You should write for Hallmark with lines like that," Rachel smirks.

"Funny," Quinn quips. "So if I seem a little off over the next few days, it's not because I'm mad or whatever, it's just seeing you and Kurt and the relationship you two have, it makes me jealous." Rachel is gazing at Quinn intently. "What?"

"I think that's the most I've heard you talk since you started this job," Rachel says. "You're not a complete robot after all."

"I _might_ be part robot," Quinn jokes. "It feels that way sometimes." Rachel doesn't respond, not wanting to pressure the other woman into saying anything she doesn't want to say but hoping that Quinn will just continue talking. Quinn shakes out her newspaper and lifts it again, leaving Rachel with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

**xxxxx**

"Exits are covered," the voice in Quinn's ear says. She's standing backstage at the Emmys, surveying the crowd. Rachel is sitting with Kurt. Three rows behind her, Michaels and his 'date' are making small talk.

"Keep me informed of any movement," Quinn says, moving to her position at the side of the stage.

"Hey," a voice says to her right. She casts a glance over the man leaning against the wall beside her.

"Can I help you?" Quinn asks, not in the mood for whatever this guy is selling.

"I was just thinking…" he starts, stammering slightly.

"No," Quinn says automatically. "Sorry."

"But…" the man tries again but Quinn shakes her head.

"I'm not interested," Quinn states firmly. "Sorry." She forces a smile and the guy slinks away.

"Jeez, Casey, way to bust the guy's balls," the voice in her ear says.

"Can it," she whispers, folding her arms across her chest. From her position, she can see Rachel, Michaels and two more of the agents posted inside the theatre. The others are covering the exits out of the building. Two cars are on standby should they need to get away quickly. Satisfied that she has every eventuality covered, Quinn allows herself to stare at Rachel.

Three hours earlier when Rachel first appeared in the lounge, Quinn had been lost for words.

"_What's wrong?" Rachel asked, misinterpreting the gormless look on Quinn's face. Rachel turned around, checking the back of her dress, "Alex." Rachel's hair and make-up artists were in the apartment so Rachel and Kurt had reverted to Quinn's new name, though Kurt still slipped in the occasional 'Costner'._

_Quinn shook her head and continued staring._

"_You're beautiful."_

_Rachel blushed and bit her bottom lip and Quinn had to restrain herself from jumping off the couch and kissing the shorter woman since that would have been entirely inappropriate given that both women had neglected to discuss the fact that Quinn had been spending most nights in her old bed, Rachel pulled close in her arms._

"_Well?" Kurt asked as he walked into the room, glancing between Quinn and Rachel for feedback on his latest design._

"_Alex is speechless," Rachel said with a smile, planting a kiss on Kurt's cheek, "Well, almost."_

"_Well, that's what we're going for," he said looking pleased, "And how do I look?" Quinn hadn't taken her eyes off Rachel so she ignored Kurt's questions and reached into her pocket, drawing out a necklace._

"_I have something for you," Quinn said, "Just in case anything happens tonight and I'm not there, you can just…" Quinn turned the star-shaped pendant over, "… just press this and I'll get to you as soon as I can."_

"_Okay, now you're actually stealing scenes from 'The Bodyguard'," Kurt grumbled as Quinn fixed the necklace around Rachel's neck and stepped back to look at her._

"_Thank you," Rachel said, smiling bashfully. Kurt looked as though he might start vomiting._

"Casey," an urgent voice barks in Quinn's ear, snapping her back to the present. She focuses on Rachel sitting in the audience.

"What?" she asks, tensing as her eyes sweep over the auditorium.

"Just making sure you're still with us," the voice says. Quinn rolls her eyes and ignores them as laughter filters through her earpiece.

**xxxxx**

The night passes quickly and during one of the breaks, Rachel is led backstage to prepare to present one of the night's final awards. Quinn smiles when Rachel's eyes find hers and she raises her hand in a small wave. Rachel returns the wave but knows not to approach the other woman.

"Please welcome Emmy-winner, Rachel Berry," a disembodied voice announces to the theatre.

Music plays, the audience applauds and Rachel steps out onto the stage after throwing a backwards glance at Quinn. Quinn edges closer to the stage, garnering a few looks despite her 'Security' pass.

As she watches Rachel speak into the microphone, Quinn is overcome by immense pride. This is what Rachel set out to achieve in high school and she's done it. Her name's been in lights on Broadway, she's won awards for every show she's starred in, even the guest spots she's done on television but yet, there is something missing. _This_ Rachel Berry isn't the one Quinn knew in High School; an overly verbose, boy-crazy, pint-sized diva who invariably alienated everyone else with her blunt honesty.

Rachel announces the winner and stands off to the side. The winner, an actor Quinn isn't familiar with at all, gives a short speech and they all walk off the stage together. Quinn retreats from her spot and watches Rachel disappear back into the audience where Kurt whispers something in her ear. Quinn frowns as Rachel starts to look around, her eyes wide, and then jumps out of her seat, walking quickly to the exit at the back of the theatre.

"Movement, movement," a voice yells in her ear. "She's at Exit 4 South."

Quinn feels a sharp buzz in her pocket and remembers the necklace around Rachel's neck. Trying not to draw too much attention to herself, she moves through the backstage area and then bolts down the stairs, sprinting along a corridor beneath the auditorium. The buzzing starts again and she pulls the receiver out of her pocket.

"Has anyone got her?" Quinn growls into her microphone.

"She's arguing with her date," a voice answers.

"Do _not_ let her leave," Quinn says, climbing up a set of stairs at the end of the corridor and bursting into the lobby. Rachel is at the other end with Kurt, she looks upset and he looks as though he's trying to apologise. Quinn watches as Rachel shoves Kurt away and moves towards the cameras outside. "Rachel!" Quinn's shout is lost amid the yells of the waiting photographers. "Someone fucking go after her." Two of the agents move outside and Quinn pulls out her cell phone, moving away from the doors. She couldn't be photographed, not anywhere near Rachel.

"Mac, start the car," she orders and grabs Kurt's arm, wrenching him towards a different exit.

"Let go of me," Kurt protests, shoving Quinn's arm away. She ignores his request and continues pulling him along until they're outside. She pushes the man into the backseat and climbs in after him. Mac pulls away and rounds the theatre where Rachel is coming to the end of the queue of photographers, looking terrified. Two agents are following her, pushing back anyone who gets too close. Quinn throws the door open and reaches out to her. As soon as she feels Rachel's petite hand latch onto hers, she pulls the shorter woman inside. One of the agents closes the door and Mac screeches away from the theatre.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, her eyes searching Rachel's for any clue as to what happened in the theatre. Rachel doesn't respond and Kurt reaches over to pull her into a hug. Quinn feels her heart beat out of rhythm for a second as she watches Kurt stroke Rachel's back and murmur in her ear, wishing that it could be her comforting the petite woman. "What happened?" Neither one answers and Quinn sighs in frustration. "I want an explanation when we get home." Kurt gives her a funny look. "When we get back to the apartment," Quinn corrects herself. "You scared the hell out of me, Rachel."

When neither one talks, Quinn gives up and sits back, an uneasy feeling settling over her stomach.

**xxxxx**

Rachel sits on the couch, holding her head in her hands while Kurt disappears into the kitchen. Quinn hears him rummaging through cupboards and takes a seat in front of Rachel, reaching forward to touch the shorter woman's shoulder and feeling disheartened when she jerks away from her touch.

"Rachel, look at me," Quinn is unable to hide the tremor from her voice. Kurt waltzes back into the room and sits down next to Rachel, throwing a look at Quinn. He hands the shorter woman a glass of water and a little white pill.

"Here you go, Rach," he says.

"No," Rachel says, pushing his hand away, "I don't want it."

"Are you sure?" He asks. "You're really upset…"

"Maybe it's fine that I'm upset, Kurt," Rachel says, lifting her head to look at the shocked man, "Maybe I _want _to feel something. I _should_ be terrified."

"I was just trying to help," he says haughtily. Quinn stands up and walks around the table, sinking into the armchair and watching the two glare at each other. Eventually she clears her throat and both of them turn to face her.

"So is anyone going to tell me what happened in there?" Quinn asks. "I mean, I spent weeks planning what should have been a simple mission…"

"Is that all she is to you, Quinn?" Kurt asks acerbically. "A mission? A job? Something to pay the bills?"

"Kurt, can you leave, please?" Rachel interjects, looking up at Quinn for the first time since they had arrived back at the apartment.

"But, Rach…" Kurt says, placing a hand on Rachel's arm. Quinn feels a jolt of satisfaction run through her body when she sees Rachel shake him off too.

"Quinn and I need to talk," she says. He stares at his best friend for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and stalking out of the room. Rachel jumps slightly when he slams the door and Quinn mentally notes that she should probably apologise to her neighbours at some point. There seems to be a lot of door-slamming in her apartment.

"So talk," Quinn says, undoing the top buttons on her shirt and sitting up to shrug off her jacket. "What the hell happened in there?" Rachel's eyes have fallen to the table, focusing on the tiny white tablet. "You looked pretty pissed off at him when I got to the lobby."

"This isn't about him," Rachel says firmly.

"Really?" Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow. "Because you were fine when I saw you backstage, you were fine when you were onstage presenting that award… the second you sat down, he said something to you and you freaked out. He made you run out of the building, for God's sake. I nearly had a heart attack. You…" Quinn falters for a second. "Anything could have happened to you."

"Something's bound to happen eventually, Quinn," she says. "You can't be there all the time. You couldn't be there tonight… you can't…" Rachel trails off and wrings her hands in her lap, trying to figure out what to say next. "Kurt said that he was surprised I didn't freak out when I opened the envelope."

"What?" Quinn stares at her blankly.

"Because of the movie?" Rachel says. "When Whitney's character is presenting an award, she freaks out because when she opens the envelope, the card is covered in letters clipped from newspapers and she runs off stage… but she only imagines it because she's convinced that everyone is after her. Or something. I really can't remember much of that movie."

"So… you ran out, because of a movie reference Kurt made?" Quinn asks slowly, unsure if she'd understood Rachel properly.

"I ran out because I started to panic," Rachel says. "Because for one evening, I forgot that someone has been threatening my life for the past couple of months. Everything felt _normal_ again and I stopped worrying that someone was going to pull a bomb out of their purse or shove a gun in my face… but then it all came back and I felt like I couldn't breathe."

"Because of Kurt's movie reference?" Quinn asks again.

"It's not because of Kurt," Rachel stands up, shouting at Quinn now. "This is turning me into a wreck, Quinn. I was pretty much a wreck before I started getting death threats and now you're here and you have guns and blueprints and sidekicks with, might I say, ridiculous names…" Quinn stares at Rachel, half-amused, half-bewildered. "Michaels and Jackson? Really?"

"I never noticed that…" Quinn says thoughtfully.

"Not the point, Quinn," Rachel snaps. "The point is… the point is…" Rachel glares at Quinn, finding her focus again. "It's just too much. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to see if there's someone there… I just want it all to end." Rachel lets out a whimper as her arms wrap themselves around her body. Quinn is on her feet, ready to catch her, but she pushes Quinn away again. "I can't, Quinn… I can't have you near me right now."

"I'm going to catch them," Quinn says earnestly, "You have to believe me. This is going to end soon. And then…"

"And then what?" Rachel shoots back. "And then you'll leave. You'll disappear. You'll leave me again and I'll have to try and start my life over…"

Quinn doesn't have time to process everything that Rachel says. It's as though a dam has broken within her and she's found her voice again.

"I don't want that," Quinn says helplessly. "I don't want that to happen."

"What _do_ you want, Quinn?" Rachel asks. Quinn looks away, frowning heavily at nothing, "Tell me what you want!" Rachel steps closer to the taller woman. "Are you scared, Quinn? Are you scared of feeling something that you don't want to feel?"

Rachel's voice is taunting her and Quinn isn't sure how much longer she'll be able to bite back the words filling her mouth.

"You know what I want?" Rachel asks, voice growing stronger with every syllable. Quinn refuses to meet her eye. "I want you."

Quinn feels as though she's been punched in the stomach. She starts to shake her head.

"No," she whispers, "Rachel, you can't… we can't…" Quinn takes a deep breath as she tries to pluck anything from the millions of words she wants to say. "_I_ can't."

"You can't what?" Rachel asks, stepping into Quinn's personal space now, grabbing Quinn's chin and forcing the taller woman to meet her gaze. Rachel's eyes are almost black and Quinn has never seen her this angry before.

"I can't do this," Quinn says, trying to break out of Rachel's grip. A shiver runs along her arms as she reigns her own temper in. "You don't want this."

"Bullshit, Quinn," Rachel explodes, pushing Quinn backwards. The taller woman staggers slightly and stares open-mouthed but before she can respond, Rachel's yelling at her. "Absolute bullshit. Every night you sneak into bed with me. You hold me close, you kiss the back of my neck and you whisper my name in your sleep. You look at me like you want to devour me. You watch me when you think I'm sleeping. I see you get jealous when someone on set flirts with me." Quinn blushes when Rachel says this but doesn't deny it. "And me? I broke up with my boyfriend because of you. I turned down countless dates because of you. I wrote you letters because I couldn't get you out of my head, even after seven years… when you died, I broke." Rachel takes a shaky breath but stands her ground. "I broke. Don't tell me you don't want this. _This_…" she gestures between herself and the taller woman, "This is inevitable."

Rachel's last words are a whisper. Quinn hears them loud and clear though. Still, she can't find the words she wants to say to Rachel.

"Look at me, Quinn," Rachel says, her voice breaking as she says it. Tears have started to fall onto her cheeks but she isn't aware of them, she's only aware of the destroyed look on Quinn's face. Quinn's eyes lock with hers and she swears she can feel electricity crackle between their bodies.

"I do," Quinn says softly. The tension disappears from Rachel's body and confusion crosses her face.

"What?" she asks dumbly.

Quinn reaches between them to take her hand.

"I want this. I want you. I want all of it. I love you, Rachel."


	6. Chapter 6

"What?" Rachel asks again, unable to form polysyllabic sentences at Quinn's revelation. 

"I love you," Quinn repeats sounding more determined this time. She steps closer to Rachel and puts her hands on Rachel's waist. Rachel swallows slowly when she looks up into Quinn's eyes.

"What?" Rachel whispers for a third time.

Quinn chuckles softly and starts to lean down, parting her lips to whisper, yet again, "I love you."

Rachel throws her arms around Quinn and pulls her into a hug, surprising Quinn to say the least.

"Iwurghoozoo," Rachel's voice is muffled against Quinn's shirt causing the taller woman to laugh again. The pair holds onto each other, clinging to each other's bodies until Quinn starts to pull away. She feels Rachel whimper against her chest and tilts the shorter woman's head up to face hers.

"Hey," Quinn says softly, the grin on her face is so wide that it physically hurts. Rachel grins back at her for a few seconds before her forehead furrows and she starts to frown.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asks. "I mean…"

"Don't think about it right now," Quinn says, understanding the meaning behind Rachel's words.

"We'll figure it out. Later." Quinn leans into Rachel again and this time the brunette doesn't interrupt as the former blonde's lips press against hers.

Rachel feels herself sink against Quinn's body, the urgent need to have the taller woman as close to her as physically possible winning against any other desire, thought or argument crowding her mind at that moment. She feels Quinn's arms encircle her completely as their kiss deepens and a gasp of surprise escapes her lips as Quinn lifts her clean off the floor.

"Have you girls…" Kurt's voice penetrates the hazy fog starting to surround Rachel's brain. "Oh my god!"

"Kurt!" Rachel practically yells, pulling away from Quinn.

"I just came to make sure you hadn't killed one another," he says, plopping down on the couch and staring at the two women. "It went quiet and I assumed…" he blushes when Quinn raises her eyebrow. "Never mind. So what does this mean?" He gestures between Quinn and Rachel, a gleeful look on his face. Quinn sets Rachel back on the ground and sighs.

"Kurt," Rachel groans.

"Right, I should make myself scarce," Kurt says, hopping off the couch and leaving the room. Rachel tugs Quinn back to her and the pair starts to kiss again. "Just getting some water!" he trills as he passes by the living room door again.

"Okay!" Rachel calls starting to get slightly exasperated. Quinn just smiles down at her but before the pair can pick off where they left off, Kurt runs past the doorway again. "Kurt, what the hell?" Rachel calls, pulling out of Quinn's arms and putting her hands on her hips.

"Just getting my bag from the other room," Kurt calls as he dashes past yet again trailing a suitcase behind him. "I figure that you two will want to…" he tails off, stopping in the doorway to wink at the two women glaring back at him. "Right, scarce. Night!" He disappears again.

Quinn reaches for Rachel but the brunette pushes her hand away.

"He's not done yet," Rachel says, "I'm sure of it." Quinn folds her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes, sighing heavily. Sure enough, the bedroom door opens and quick footsteps march along the corridor less than a minute later.

"Forgot my…" Kurt comes into the lounge and stops short, an apologetic look instantly working its way across his features. "Sorry." He reaches for his phone and starts to walk out of the room.

"Kurt!" Rachel calls him back. "Who are you going to call?"

"No-one," he says. "There's no-one I can tell. It's _killing_ me."

"It's not the only thing that will be killing you if you don't go to bed right now," Quinn mumbles under her breath.

"Night guys!" Kurt says, sensing the anger radiating from Quinn. He scarpers back to the second bedroom and Rachel turns back to face Quinn.

"Sorry," she says, grimacing then gasping in shock as Quinn sweeps the petite brunette off her feet and carries her to their bedroom. She allows herself a tiny grin at the thought of 'their' bedroom, one that fades quickly as her brain tries to rationalise what's happening. This can't end well for either woman.

Quinn lays Rachel on the bed and goes to lock the door though she isn't expecting any more interruptions from Kurt. Rachel offers her a smile as she walks back towards the bed, finally undoing the rest of the buttons on the shirt she detests wearing. She sits down next to Rachel and draws her close again into another languid kiss. Quinn's hands find the zip on Rachel's dress and pull it downwards.

"You're sure about this?" Quinn asks between kisses. "We shouldn't rush…"

"We've waited sixteen years," Rachel says. "And…" She frowns and shakes her head. "I'm going to lose you, Quinn. And it'll be sooner rather than later. We've wasted so much time together already."

Rachel is the one to start the kiss again, her hands pushing the shirt off Quinn's shoulders and arms and pulling the tank top underneath over Quinn's head.

Her eyes travel over Quinn's toned abs, another scar blighting the woman's pale skin. Rachel's fingers trace the line of raised flesh causing Quinn to shiver.

"You really have been in the wars," Rachel notes, a hint of sadness in her voice. Quinn nods, wrapping her fingers around Rachel's hand and bringing it to her lips, pressing delicate kisses on the tips of the tan, slender fingers. "What was it like?" Quinn closes her eyes. "I know you sent the letters… but you never really wrote about what it was like."

"Not now," Quinn's voice is an agitated whisper, "I will tell you everything you want to know, Rachel, but you have to understand that it isn't easy. The things I've seen… you can't emulate it on a movie screen. I've watched friends, my family, die. I've seen people, civilians, missing limbs; arms, legs… blown clean off." Quinn opens her eyes and looks panicked, her hand tightens on Rachel's.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, but her apology dies in her throat as Quinn moves closer to her, pressing her lips against Rachel's again, more intense this time. Rachel feels Quinn's hands pulling at the fabric of her dress and slides off the bed to let the dress fall to the floor. She blushes under Quinn's stare and walks back to the bed, kneeling on the edge in front of the taller woman.

"You're beautiful," Quinn whispers, running a single fingertip down Rachel's side, watching as the tan flesh turns to goosebumps. Rachel motions for Quinn to move further up the bed and follows, crawling up to straddle Quinn's thighs after the taller woman has positioned herself against the pillows. They kiss again, Rachel's teeth gently biting Quinn's lower lip, Quinn's hands run down the smaller brunette's back, following the curve of her ass to the backs of her thighs where Quinn freezes and pulls her mouth away from Rachel's. "You have a scar."

"Yes," Rachel states matter-of-factly. Quinn's fingertips trace the line of raised flesh to the back of Rachel's right knee.

"What happened?" Quinn asks, retracing the line.

"I fell," Rachel says, her own hands splayed across Quinn's abdomen, fingertips drumming lightly against the solid muscle. "In my final year at NYU, we did some work with a wire team and they messed up my harness. I fell and landed on some scenery, it sliced my leg."

"You never told me," Quinn says, moving her hands around to the front of Rachel's thighs now.

"I don't really like thinking about it," Rachel says with a shrug. "Plus, it's not nearly as impressive as the ones you have."

"Did you break anything?" Quinn asks, unsure as to why she's continuing to question Rachel about something she clearly doesn't want to talk about.

"My wrist," Rachel says, "Bruised my ribs, my legs were a mess."

"Jeez," Quinn whistles through her teeth. "Sounds nasty."

"Yeah," Rachel says, sliding her hands slightly higher, one reaches around Quinn's back to unclasp her bra. "It's probably up there with the top five worst days of my life." She pulls Quinn's bra off, tossing it in the vague direction of the clothes on the floor.

Silence falls over both women as Rachel tentatively runs a thumb over Quinn's already straining nipple. Quinn feels her body arch up to meet Rachel's touch and moans softly against the shorter woman's lips which have resumed nibbling Quinn's.

Rachel gasps against the taller woman's mouth as the hands on her thighs start moving again, massaging closer and closer to the apex of her legs and bites a little harder than she intends to as slender fingers brush against the fabric of her panties. Quinn hisses, bringing a hand up to her mouth to wipe away the tiny trickle of blood on her bottom lip. Rachel looks a little sheepish.

"Ow," Quinn says, a smile on her lips, the wound already healing over.

"Wuss," Rachel replies, kissing along Quinn's jaw line, down her neck to her collarbone. She sucks lightly at the skin there, grinning to herself as Quinn's body arches slightly again. Rachel shifts her body, sliding down so that her mouth draws level with Quinn's chest, her mouth encircling a dark pink nipple as her left hand covers the other.

Quinn's body reacts viscerally, curling up into Rachel's, her thigh sliding between Rachel's legs, surprising the shorter woman who grinds enthusiastically against the hard muscle, soft moans sending ripples of sensation through Quinn's body.

Rachel's tongue flicks the tip of Quinn's nipple fervently before she allows her teeth to graze over the sensitive skin. Quinn responds by bending her knee, spreading Rachel's legs a little wider with her thigh. Rachel lifts her head up to look at Quinn, eyes dark and intense, lips swollen from their efforts on Quinn's stiff nipples, her breathing heavy. Quinn swears she feels her heart skip a couple of beats as another pulse shoots through her body. Rachel slides a hand down the taller woman's torso, undoing the button and zip of her trousers before peeling the item of clothing from Quinn's body. Her eyes focus on the scar on Quinn's leg for longer than necessary.

"It won't hurt you," Quinn chuckles, twisting her leg so that Rachel can't see the thick red line that blights her skin. The shorter woman turns Quinn's leg back then ducks her head and presses kisses alongside the scar, moving up Quinn's body until their mouths meet in another heated kiss, bodies pressed hard against one another. Quinn snaps Rachel's bra off and throws it aside before reversing their positions.

Rachel smiles up at Quinn, sliding her arms around the taller woman's neck, running her fingers through her hair while Quinn stares down at her, her breathing laboured. Rachel's body is more perfect than she had ever allowed herself to imagine (which she had frequently).

Quinn can recall the exact second she fell in love with Rachel Berry with alarming clarity. It was at school, in her final year at McKinley High before she was shipped halfway across the country. Rachel hadn't been anywhere close to Quinn's radar until she started chasing Finn, and after that, Quinn could do nothing _but _notice Rachel. She masked her feelings with pornographic drawings and insults, thinly veiled loathing of everything about the miniscule girl. But her true feelings couldn't have been further from the façade she projected.

And the moment Quinn fell in love with Rachel? It wasn't while she was singing, though Quinn couldn't help but stare in awe of the girl as she took the lead in virtually every song they sang. It wasn't while Rachel was offering the hand of friendship to Quinn after she'd lost everything. It was a Tuesday afternoon. Quinn had left her Maths book in her locker and ran back to collect it after cheerleading practice. Rachel had been at ballet class. Quinn had been drawn by the music and hid outside, watching Rachel through the window as she twirled and leapt around the room, her eyes closed, her usually straightened hair piled messily on top of her head having come loose from its bun. There was something so free, so natural about the girl…

The next day, Quinn had doused the girl with a grape slushie, doubled the amount of time she spent thinking of insults and devoted an hour of her evenings to prayer, trying to cure herself of feeling anything for star of Glee club.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers, ducking her head to press soft kisses all over Rachel's confused face. "I'm so sorry."

"What? What for?" Rachel asks, moving one of her hands to cup Quinn's face. There are tears in Quinn's eyes.

"For being so horrible to you," Quinn says. "For everything that I did in high school."

"Quinn, that was so long ago," Rachel whispers. "A lifetime ago. We're different people now." The shorter woman smiles, brushing her thumb over Quinn's bottom lip. "I forgive you. Quinn, you're not that girl anymore."

Quinn recaptures Rachel's lips, her hand sliding down the tan body, fingers splayed on the brunette's chest, a steady heartbeat thrumming beneath her fingertips.

"I love you," Quinn says hoarsely between kisses and runs her hand further south, pushing Rachel's panties down. Rachel wriggles beneath Quinn until the panties join all the other clothes on the floor. Quinn hesitates, biting down on her lip, but Rachel shakes her head in response.

"I want you, Quinn," she whispers. "I love you."

Quinn's fingers move over the small thatch of soft dark curls and feels Rachel quiver, her legs opening a little wider. Delicately, she runs a finger along the already wet folds, watching as Rachel's eyes flutter closed.

"Please, Quinn," Rachel sighs, her hands clinging to Quinn's back, short fingernails grazing the pale flesh. Their mouths meet again as Quinn eases a finger inside the petite brunette, a moan escaping from her still swollen lips. Their bodies rock together as Quinn starts to thrust deep inside, adding another finger at Rachel's insistence. "More," she groans as Quinn breaks away from her mouth, nipping at Rachel's neck, moving down the tiny body, placing kisses across the smaller woman's breasts. Quinn gasps as nails dig into her back when she takes Rachel's nipple in her mouth.

Rachel feels a wave of pleasure rush over her body and groans loudly before covering her mouth with her hand, remembering that Kurt is a couple of rooms away. She wants to make this last as long as possible, the feeling of Quinn's fingers pushing deep inside her, her tongue dancing across her skin, their bodies melding together. Her body arches upward again as Quinn's teeth nip at the skin between her breasts and another moan tumbles from her lips.

When Quinn adds a third finger, Rachel has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from crying out. Their eyes lock, the look on Quinn's face is so intense that it sends another ripple through Rachel's body followed by another as the fingers inside her curl. Her body starts to tense, muscles contracting around Quinn's fingers and she almost curses herself for being this ready so soon despite the fact that this is the most amazing she's felt in a very long time.

Quinn can't stop the smile spreading across her face when she twists her hand, allowing her thumb to brush against Rachel's throbbing clit. The petite woman's eyes are practically closed, her head pushed back into the pillows, her mouth open in a silent 'oh', hands clutching at the now blotchy skin on the taller woman's back. She knows that Rachel is holding back, probably because of the fact that Kurt is probably camped outside, glass against the door, so she slides her fingers out of Rachel, enjoying the whimpers that rise from her chest. Quinn pushes her wet fingers against the nub of nerves and Rachel curses, a long string of words that Quinn doesn't quite catch all of, causing her to press another kiss against the brunette's lips.

Rachel's hands grasp at Quinn's hair now, holding the short-haired brunette as tightly to her as possible. Her body is vibrating against Quinn's as fingers draw circles around her clit. She moans Quinn's name over and over, feeling every muscle in her body tense. Then release washes over her body, she shudders, clinging to the body on top of her, words tumbling out of her mouth around uneven breaths that she can't control.

She starts to cry.

Quinn pants heavily, her forehead pressed against Rachel's shoulder, eyes closed. Rachel's fingers slip out of her short hair and run down her back.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is unsteady, thick. Quinn's head lifts and she frowns.

"Are you okay?" she asks, alarm forcing her voice to rise at least an octave. She shifts her body off of Rachel's but small, firm hands pull her back, tilting her head up, running the pad of her thumb over Quinn's bottom lip.

Quinn's bottom lip. Rachel's mouth quirks into a smile as she recalls the countless times she found herself daydreaming at school about Quinn's mouth, Quinn's eyes, her stupid cheerleading uniform with its ridiculously short skirt, the way she raised her eyebrow and, especially, the way she bit down on the corner of her bottom lip.

"What?" Quinn asks, looking thoroughly confused. "Rach, are you okay?"

"Yes," Rachel says, not trusting herself to say anything further, not wanting to bring on the torture of contemplating the moment Quinn will disappear from her life. Instead, Rachel pulls Quinn's head closer to her own and kisses her desperately. "Everything's fine."

**xxxxx**

It feels as though they've only just fallen asleep when there's a tentative knock on the door. Quinn stares at it for a few seconds before remembering that Kurt is still in the apartment. She slides out of bed, disentangling Rachel's arms from her waist and grabs a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

"Morning," she says, stretching and yawning after she unlocked the door.

"Good morning," the man says with a slight smirk on his features. "My taxi is on its way, so I thought I'd say goodbye."

"Of course, your flight…" Quinn tails off and glances at Rachel before walking back to the bed and sitting down next to Rachel. Kurt feels a slight lurch in his stomach as he watches Quinn lean down, kissing Rachel's cheek before whispering in her ear.

"Baby, Kurt has to go."

"Okay," Rachel says sleepily, her eyes blinking open. She smiles up at Quinn, teeth running over her bottom lip as a blush spreads across her cheeks. "Hey."

"Hi," Quinn says, pressing her lips against Rachel's.

Kurt rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

"Like you didn't do enough of that last night," he says, putting a hand on his hip. He spots the dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and gasps. "Rachel Berry, what is my dress doing on the floor?"

"It um… I don't know," Rachel says, tearing her gaze from Quinn's and wrapping the sheet around her body as she slides off the bed, "Don't be mad. I don't want you to leave in a bad mood."

"I'm not," he says, smiling down at the diva. He gives her a hug and kisses her cheek. "Call me later. Not that I need to hear the details of last night again." Rachel blushes again and Quinn chuckles.

"I tried to get her to be quiet," Quinn says, her eyes running over the sheet covering Rachel's body. "Do you need help with your bags?"

Kurt is about to reject Quinn's offer when he decides to take advantage of this opportunity to remind the former blonde of what she's potentially going to do to Rachel.

"Sure," he says, kissing Rachel again. "Be good."

"Always," Rachel replies, walking back to the bed. As he leaves the room, he hears Rachel giggle and

feels his stomach lurch again. This would be a nightmare to fix.

"Have a safe flight," Quinn says after helping Kurt down to the front door.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Kurt says. His tone isn't accusing or annoyed, just matter-of-fact.

"I have a plan," she says vaguely, lying, of course.

"And that would be what? Fake your death again? Then what? You can't take her out of the public eye, people will notice. Or maybe you want to fake her death. Please try to remember that she has people who care about her, who didn't run off and leave her…" Kurt looks sad for a few seconds before shaking away the memory of Rachel during the first few months after Quinn's death.

"I would never ask her to do that," Quinn says, though she's never really considered having Rachel fake her own death. "And I had my reasons for…"

"Then you need to figure out what the hell you're doing with her," he interrupts with a grimace. "It's going to end up hurting both of you."

Outside a car's horn sounds and Kurt bends to pick up his bags.

"Thanks for letting me stay," he says. "I'm going to spend the next few hours on the plane trying to erase the sound of my best friend yelling your name."

"Good luck with that," Quinn says with a chuckle though her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Kurt, I'll be careful."

Quinn takes the stairs back to her apartment, trying to clear her mind. All thoughts promptly disappear when she reaches her bedroom. With the sheet discarded on the floor, Rachel is lying in the centre of the bed, propped up on one elbow, her fingertip drawing patterns on the bedspread.

"That took longer than expected," Rachel says, a pout on her lips. Quinn quickly pulls off her clothes and rejoins Rachel on the bed, kissing the tousled brunette, not caring if she wakes up the entire building this time.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says, wondering if she'll ever be able to stop apologising, "Won't happen again."

**xxxxx**

Quinn is sitting outside the make-up trailer with Michaels when their boss calls. Rachel is being transformed into the 'suburban housewife' persona her character leaves behind when she goes to war. Quinn finds it difficult to watch these scenes being filmed and not just because the actor playing her husband won't take the hint that Rachel isn't interested in him.

"Sir," Quinn answers the phone.

"Casey," he says, "It's been over a week since we spoke. After the incident at the Emmys, I thought you'd have lots to report on."

"Sir…" Quinn starts to explain but he cuts her off.

"Do I have to remind you that guarding Ms Berry is not your only priority? Letters and threats are still being made and you and Michaels have yet to come up with a single suspect," he says, all trace of emotion disappears from his voice. "The studio is trying to decide if they can justify keeping you both on set."

"Sir…" Quinn tries again.

"Have something," he pauses, "Anything that will keep you employed by Friday or I will find someone else to take on this case. I have a long list of Agents who would love the privilege of taking on a job like this."

"Yes, Sir," Quinn says, defeated.

"Friday," the man repeats and hangs up.

"So the news isn't good?" Michaels asks, taking a sip of his coffee. Quinn is frowning heavily at her phone.

"He wants something by Friday," Quinn says, adjusting her sunglasses. "The studio isn't happy. Hell, I'm not happy. What are we missing?"

"We can take another look at the security tapes," he says, "Or run some more background checks. Look for any links that we missed the first time round."

"Yeah, maybe," Quinn says sullenly. "This is the most useless I've ever felt on a job."

"Jeez, Casey, lighten up a bit," Michaels says, gesturing at their surroundings. "We're in Los Angeles, we're on a movie set surrounded by some pretty gorgeous women and you've got one of the world's most well-known actresses sleeping in your apartment. I think this beats Russia hands-down."

"Well, you shot me in Russia," Quinn says, nudging him with her shoulder, "And the women were hot in Russia, the ones who _didn't_ try to kill us anyway. And you're much less of a jackass now."

"I like to think that I've matured," Michaels says with a shrug. "We'll figure this out. We'll catch the bad guys and then we can go back to our 'normal' missions." Quinn fidgets with her empty coffee cup. "Though something, let's call it my sixth sense, tells me that's not something you're particularly happy about."

"I want to catch the bad guys, of course," Quinn sighs. "That's why we're here." Her forehead furrows as her fingers crush the cup into a mangled heap.

"But…" Michaels gestures for her to continue. "Casey, I know somewhere under that rock-hard exterior there's a soft, fluffy…" he tails off as Quinn turns to glare at him. "Okay, maybe not fluffy." He holds his hands up in apology, "I see the way you are with Ra… with Ms Berry."

"Not that it's any of your business," Quinn says quietly, turning back to the cup. They're silent for a couple of minutes, watching people rush past on their way to the set or coming and going from the food services area across the lot. "I don't know what to do."

Michaels isn't listening though, his eyes are trained on a young man loitering near the costume trailer.

"Two o'clock," he mutters, already reaching into his jacket to grasp his gun.

"Michaels, what?" Quinn asks eyes locking onto the man, who can't be past his teens, hovering nervously, an envelope clutched tightly in his hand. He starts to edge towards the actors' trailers and Michaels gets to his feet. Quinn pulls the door to the make-up trailer open. "Rachel… Ms Berry, I'll be back in ten minutes. Do not leave the trailer without me." Rachel opens her mouth but Quinn's already out the door. She radios Hank and tells him to get someone to make-up before chasing after Michaels.

Their suspicions are confirmed as the boy, a cap hiding his face, reaches Rachel's trailer and produces a key from his pocket. Quinn rolls her eyes as he fumbles with the key, dropping it on the ground.

"This is ridiculous," she mutters to Michaels, who nods. "Move in."

They move in from opposite sides, guns drawn, while the figure is still scrambling the ground, half under the trailer now.

"Get off the ground now," Michaels shouts. Quinn stops abruptly, holding up her hands, as the youth gets to his feet, glancing between the pair, eyes wide with terror. She motions for Michaels to raise his gun.

"We won't hurt you if you answer some questions for us," Quinn says.

"Go to hell," the boy stutters, his hands start to physically shake.

"Gladly," Quinn replies. "Tell us who gave you the key." The boy remains silent. Michaels lowers his gun and fires a silent shot near the boy's foot. He gives a yelp, jumping about a foot in the air.

"Tell the nice lady who gave you the key," Michaels says, advancing on the boy who looks like he might pass out at any second.

"I don't know his name," the boy replies and Quinn can tell he's lying. "He just gave me money and the key and told me to put this inside the trailer." He holds up the envelope and Michaels snatches it from his hand, passing it over to Quinn.

"Take him to security," Quinn orders. "And get Jackson over here. Maybe we can scare the answers out of him." Michaels leaves and Quinn rips the envelope open, pulling out the paper inside. Same writing as all the other letters.

'Boom.'

Quinn frowns at the letter and turns it over, expecting there to be more. Alone in this part of the lot, she sits down on the trailer steps, staring at the piece of paper. Then she hears it.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Quinn stuffs the piece of paper in her pocket and crawls under the trailer, finding a familiar set of red numbers counting down towards zero. Only this time, the numbers are disappearing quickly and there's less than ten seconds left on the clock. Quinn scrambles out from beneath the trailer, running as fast as she can.

The blast sends debris flying into the air and throws Quinn a few metres along the ground, causing her to land heavily on her right arm. She curses, flinging her left arm over her head as scraps of metal rain down and dust engulfs her.

"Casey!" Michaels' voice is hazy through the ringing in her ears. She feels a hand on her arm and she's lifted from the ground, choking on the dust. "Fuck, are you okay?" He sets her down away from the smouldering wreckage that used to be Rachel's trailer. A wave of nausea rolls over her body and she closes her eyes, willing it to stop before she starts throwing up.

"Get Rachel," Quinn wheezes. "Make sure she's okay." Michaels looks like he might protest but nods and disappears as Quinn starts to cough. Sirens approach fast and a crowd has already gathered. Paramedics reach her first but the dust clogging her throat makes it impossible for her to tell them what happened. Rachel appears as an oxygen mask is being fitted over Quinn's nose and mouth.

"Oh god," Rachel cries and moves to put her arms around Quinn.

"No," Quinn rasps, pulling off the mask with her left arm. She snaps the mask back on and watches Rachel's face go from worried to confused to hurt as Quinn takes two more breaths, her airway is starting to clear. "My arm is broken."

"Ms Berry, you'll have to step back," a paramedic says. "We have to take Ms McKenzie to the hospital." Quinn holds up a hand and pulls the mask off again at Rachel's confused look.

"I'm her bodyguard. She comes with me," Quinn says, daring the paramedic to contradict her. When the paramedic moves away to check a few people over for shock, Michaels comes over.

"Jackson has taken the kid away for questioning," he says quietly. "Are you okay? The boss wants to know."

"Broken arm," Quinn mutters after sliding the mask off. "Just another reason to take me off this."

"No, the boss wants you to stay on this," he says. "Maybe the kid will give us some answers. He's not smart enough to have come up with the bomb. I mean, look how easily we caught him…" He trails off and stares at Quinn.

"The bomb was meant for us," she says. "It should have been both of us and him."

"Fuck." Michaels looks thoughtful for a few seconds.

"Exactly," Quinn says, wondering if they'd be able to stop at a liquor store on the way to the hospital to pick up something to steady her nerves. Quinn gestures for Rachel to come back from where she's been hovering with a helpless expression on her face and Michaels goes to speak to the police again.

"What were you talking about?" Rachel asks.

"It's not important," Quinn says, trying to give Rachel a smile and failing miserably.

"Alex, that was awful acting," Rachel says. "I'll find out eventually. You might as well tell me now."

"That bomb wasn't meant for you," Quinn whispers. "The kid was just a way to lure Michaels and me to your trailer so that he could blow us both up."

"So now they're after you too?" Rachel asks, her whisper is high-pitched, her hand clamps down on Quinn's.

"We think so," Quinn says. "I'm sorry about this."

"You nearly get killed by a bomb and you're apologising to _me_?" Rachel asks, "You also need to explain why that paramedic thinks your last name is McKenzie."

"Well, technically Alex Casey doesn't exist," Quinn says, leaning in close to Rachel. "You can imagine what happens when you turn up in a hospital when you don't actually exist."

"So you're now…?" Rachel asks.

"Alexis McKenzie," Quinn replies. "I tend to keep the first name similar and just change my last name."

"How many names do you have?" Rachel asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Um… six," Quinn says, counting up the various sets of paperwork she has locked in a safe in her apartment. "And not all of them are on American passports." Rachel contemplates this in silence until the paramedic returns with her colleague. They help Quinn into the ambulance and Rachel climbs in after her. "They're going to start really hating you on that set."

"My agent will be calling any minute," Rachel says, pulling out her cell phone. "I can't wait to get back to Broadway. No-one ever tried to blow up any of my dressing rooms there." Quinn offers her a half-smile, ignoring the jolt in her stomach at the mention of Rachel's life after this movie wraps.

As soon as the ambulance pulls out of the movie lot, Rachel's agent calls.

"Justine, no. I'm fine. I'm with Alex. She broke her arm. No." Rachel pauses. "I'll be back on set as soon as the doctors release… Justine, you do realise that they just blew up my trailer, don't you? I'm a little upset." Another pause. "The two agents who are protecting me are satisfactory," Rachel's voice now has an edge to it. "Fine. Maybe you can catch the people who are trying to kill me then."

Rachel hangs up and stares at her phone. Quinn opens her mouth to say something but Rachel shakes her head. Ten seconds later, Rachel's phone rings again and she answers impatiently. "Yes?" She listens to Justine plead for her job for thirty seconds before cutting the woman off. "I'll call you when we leave the hospital."

Quinn smirks when Rachel hangs up.

"Diva much?" she asks, grimacing as the paramedic injects painkillers into her unbroken arm.

"I hate pulling that sort of stunt with her," Rachel says, pocketing her phone. "She's been really good for me. But sometimes…" Rachel shrugs. The paramedic turns her attention from Quinn to Rachel.

"This probably isn't the best time," the paramedic says, "But I'm such a fan…" Rachel beams across at the woman with a kilowatt grin causing Quinn to roll her eyes. The taller woman watches as Rachel signs a piece of paper and chats about Broadway shows all the way to the hospital.

The paramedic, who insists that Rachel call her 'Megan', helps Rachel out first. Then Quinn is wheeled out on a gurney which seems a bit ridiculous, she thinks to herself, almost as ridiculous as the name Megan. The hospital security are immediately assigned to follow Rachel everywhere she goes in the hospital, at Quinn's behest, and Quinn is taken to get her arm x-rayed, watching as Rachel laughs at something Megan said before she disappears from view.

Rachel is waiting nearby when Quinn emerges from the room, pushed along in a wheelchair by a nurse. The nurse disappears, telling Quinn that it'll be about an hour probably before they know how serious the break is.

"How's Megan?" Quinn asks, after the nurse has gone and the security staff has been waved away.

"Quinn, really," Rachel whispers, "She's just a fan."

"A fan with a huge crush on you," Quinn whispers back.

"There are lots of fans with crushes on me," Rachel says, blushing slightly, "It's a fact of life. I'm totally hot." Rachel rolls her eyes at her sarcastic assessment of her looks.

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that," Quinn says with a grin.

"I was just being nice," Rachel says guiltily.

"I was kidding, Rach," Quinn says, reaching for Rachel's hand and giving it a squeeze. "I'm a little shocked that you're handling this so well."

"Thanks?" Rachel asks with a laugh. "Although, I wouldn't say I'm handling this well. I'm kind of a wreck inside. I'll be a nightmare tonight."

"I'll be there," Quinn says, "Cast and all. I can still shoot a gun with my left hand, y'know."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Rachel asks with a grin. "I'm already aware of your… dexterity." She blushes when she says the final word and Quinn laughs this time, biting her bottom lip and grimacing. "Careful, you have a couple of cuts… they should really get you cleaned up."

"It'll be fine, I've had…"

"Worse, yes, I know," Rachel says cutting her off and placing her hand directly over the bullet wound on Quinn's thigh. "Do you think that one day, just maybe, you'll get fed up of getting shot or looking after movie stars or having things explode around you?" Quinn nods, "What are you going to do then?" This time Quinn hesitates before she shrugs. "Cat got your tongue?"

"You know that I want this," Quinn says. "I just need more time to figure out _how_ this can work. You can't exactly take me home to meet people. You can't introduce me to your friends…" Rachel's expression turns to one of guilt. "Rachel?"

"Friends of mine," she starts, "People that I've worked with in New York are coming to LA next weekend and they want to have dinner. The thing is, it's all couples and I hate being the odd-one-out…"

"So you want me to go out to dinner with you and your friends?" Quinn asks.

"Yes, but I know you think that's risky… so I can just say no…" Rachel says.

"No," Quinn says, "We should go."

"Really?" Rachel asks, her eyes lighting up. "Because you'll love them. They're really nice people. And I might have already said we were going anyway."

"I don't want to disappoint them then," Quinn says. "We should work on a character now."

"A character?" Rachel asks. "Are you going to turn this into an acting exercise?"

"You have no idea," Quinn says with a grin.

**xxxxx**

Rachel is sitting on the bed, re-reading her lines for the next day. She knows them by heart but it never hurts to be prepared. Dinner with her friends is still a week away but Quinn is insisting on showing off her skills when it comes to disguise, which is taking twice as long due to her only having one functional arm.

"They could have given me a lighter cast," Quinn's disembodied voice calls as she sends something clattering onto the floor. "I might get Mac to fly me up to one of our hospitals and they can give me something that's easier to work with."

"It's just for another two weeks," Rachel calls back. "It's only a minor break. Quit whining."

"Or maybe you could just call Megan and ask her to hook me up," Quinn calls, laughing this time. Rachel grumbles something under her breath. A note and flowers had shown up in Rachel's new trailer, located far away from the previous two, the day after the bomb, with Megan's number scrawled on the card.

"Funny," Rachel calls, closing her script and lying back against the pillows. "Are you sure you don't want some help?"

"Nope, nearly done," Quinn says, her voice getting closer now. She steps into the bedroom and Rachel's jaw drops. All traces of Quinn Fabray are gone, until she bites her lip.

"Wow," Rachel says, sitting up again and crawling to the edge of the bed. She beckons Quinn to her and runs her hands through the now-auburn hair. "Is it really you in there?" Quinn's eyes are a startling shade of green, freckles are spread across her cheeks and slightly augmented nose.

"Of course it is, Rachel," Quinn says in an Irish accent causing the brunette to collapse into giggles.

"Too much? Which accent should I go for?"

"Maybe just stick with American?" Rachel asks, sitting up again, sliding her arms around Quinn's waist, "And leave the accents to me." Rachel's Irish accent is flawless. "You like that one?"

"It does have a slight charm to it," Quinn tries the Irish accent again but ends up sounding a mystifying mix of Jamaican and Scottish. "That was awful. I need to practise more. I'm pretty good at Eastern European accents." Rachel leans in to press a kiss to Quinn's neck and she feels the taller woman lean into her. "My arm…"

"Your arm is not necessary for what I have in mind," Rachel says, eyes darkening as she climbs off the bed and gestures for Quinn to lie down.

"That hardly seems fair…" Quinn's sentence dies in her throat as Rachel's quick hands divest her of every piece of clothing below her waist and a pair of wet lips trail kisses up the inside of her thighs.


	7. Chapter 7

Quinn is lazing back on the bed, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor. Rachel is in the bathroom and has been for close to forty-five minutes. 

"Rach, you said this was casual," Quinn calls, glancing down at her outfit, a tight-fitting plaid shirt with a tank top underneath and loose jeans, leather jacket lying by her side. They're taking her motorcycle to the restaurant. "What's taking so long?" Rachel's reply is muffled due to the closed door. "You do realise you could be wearing a garbage bag and still look gorgeous, right?" The response this time sounds more enthusiastic but still garbled.

She hears the bathroom door unlock and exhales. "Finally," she whispers then her breath catches in her throat as Rachel walks… no, struts… into the room in her black stiletto boots. "Wow." She watches as Rachel smiles and gives her a twirl, her figure shown off by the tight, dark jeans and low-cut black top showing off just a hint of cleavage. Quinn sits up and moves off the bed to pull Rachel to her. "Well, this is just unfair. You look at least a thousand times hotter than I do. And you decided not to wear a skirt!"

"Well, we're taking your deathtrap to the restaurant. A skirt just does not go with that mode of transportation. It's your loss." Rachel rolls her eyes and swats Quinn's roaming hands away. "We don't have time."

"That's probably a good thing," Quinn remarks and reaches behind her to grab a helmet for Rachel. "For you."

"It's going to mess up my hair," Rachel complains, "Even though you do look ridiculously hot in the jacket."

"You promised," Quinn says, pulling on her jacket and zipping it up.

"You had an unfair advantage," Rachel says, letting her eyes wander over the taller woman's body, stopping at the couple of inches of collarbone that are just visible between the tank top and the shirt.

"Come on, we're late," Quinn says, reaching for Rachel's hand and grabbing her own helmet as they leave the apartment.

"Should you even be driving this thing with your arm in a cast?" Rachel asks. Quinn sighs in exasperation.

"Rachel, if I can do what we did in bed last night with this thing on, I'm pretty sure a ten minute ride to the restaurant will be a breeze," Quinn says, flexing her fingers with a smirk on her face. She helps Rachel with her helmet before pulling her own on and wheels the bike out of the garage. She climbs on and waits for Rachel to figure out how to get on behind her. "Seriously, that was the most unattractive thing I've ever seen you do," Quinn jokes, laughing as the roar of her engine drowns out Rachel's response.

Less than ten minutes later they arrive, Rachel's gloved fingers gripping Quinn's waist. She hops off the bike with surprising finesse and glares at Quinn through her visor before pulling the helmet off.

"That was terrifying!" she exclaims, jabbing a finger at Quinn's shoulder.

"Did I go too fast?" Quinn asks innocently, climbing off the bike and easing her helmet off, careful not to disrupt her wig.

"Fast?" Rachel splutters. "You… The… Oh my god, I'm so angry I can't even talk!"

"Babe," Quinn says in a placating tone, reaching for Rachel's hands to slide the gloves off, "I'm sorry." She lifts Rachel's fingers to her mouth and lets her lips ghost over the tips. Rachel sighs in frustration. "I'll go slow on the way home."

"I'm taking a taxi!" Rachel says but the anger has gone from her voice. Quinn takes Rachel's hand again as they walk across the car park.

"You can't stay angry at me all night, Rach," Quinn says, pulling the shorter woman back when she tries to walk on ahead. She leans in and brushes her mouth against Rachel's ear. "I'll make it up to you." She feels Rachel shiver and knows that the brunette is going to forgive her.

"Fine," Rachel says, then pushes her lips against Quinn's. "Love you."

"Love you too," Quinn responds, a grin on her face. "Let's go feed me to the wolves!"

A waitress guides them through to a private room near the back of the restaurant where four people are already seated and four empty seats wait for them.

"Rachel!" the first man stands to embrace the petite brunette in a bone-crushing hug. "You look fantastic."

"You too," Rachel responds, smiling up at the man.

"And this must be… Alexis?" he asks, turning to Quinn.

"Alex," Quinn corrects, shaking the man's hand. "And you're Richard?" He nods in surprise. "Rachel made sure I was very prepared. She's had me memorising flashcards for the past few days." Richard laughs in response.

"That does sound like something Rachel would do," he says. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You too," Quinn says then turns to the others at the table. "Daniel, Theresa and…Gregory?"

"She's showing off," Rachel says, sliding an arm around Quinn's waist. Quinn notices the others exchange glances. "I showed her a couple of photos of you guys and Alex has a photographic memory, isn't that right, sweetie?" Quinn gives Rachel a quick grin.

"Sure is," she replies. "Can I get anyone a drink?" she asks, addressing the table again.

**xxxxx**

It turns out that Quinn has very little talking to do throughout the first two courses of the meal. Jack, another Tony winner, has everyone spellbound with his tales of debauchery from Broadway.

"We've all heard these stories a million times," Theresa says quietly to Quinn as the dishes from the main course are being cleared away. "We should really be questioning you, making sure you're good enough for our Rachel."

"I think Rachel has impeccable judgment," Quinn replies with a grin. "Going by her friends anyway." Quinn gestures around the table. Theresa's throaty laugh draws everyone else's attention, especially Rachel's who slides a hand across Quinn's thigh, squeezing it lightly. Quinn turns to look at Rachel with a smile. "I was just telling Theresa that you have great taste."

"I can't argue with that," Rachel replies, leaning in to press her lips against Quinn's. Jack catcalls and Rachel pulls away, but moves her chair closer to Quinn's, leaning against the taller woman.

"Rachel says that you're working on her movie," Richard says.

"I was, but not at the moment," Quinn says, holding up her arm which had been refitted with a smaller cast a couple of days beforehand. "I'm out of action for a couple more weeks."

"What happened?" Daniel asks. He starred in Les Mis with Rachel, Quinn remembers from the countless facts Rachel has bombarded her with.

"We were filming one of the fight scenes and messed up my cue, ended up in the wrong place at the very wrong time," Quinn says. "You get used to injuries though when you're a stuntwoman." This is all part of the story they'd concocted. "So Rachel knows all of you from Broadway? She's dying to fly me up to New York so we can go see a show together. My knowledge of musicals is - what did you say, Rach? - 'frightfully abysmal'."

"It's beyond abysmal," Rachel says with a nod and a roll of her eyes then launches into a story that Quinn doesn't even catch half of because she finds herself captivated by the look on Rachel's face, the smile on her lips, the laugh that bursts from them. Rachel's eyes catch her and the brunette blushes under the intense gaze.

"Can I get anyone another drink?" Quinn asks, turning back to look at the table.

"I think it's my turn for a round," Richard says and stands up at the same time as Quinn.

"I'll help you then," Quinn says, following him out of the room. They walk to the bar in silence. Richard looks pensive. "What's on your mind, Richard?" Quinn asks after they've placed their orders.

"I'm worried about Rachel," he says. "She went through a really tough time about four years ago, I think? A friend of hers passed away, someone she knew from school… maybe she told you?" Quinn shakes her head though instantly regrets that decision. "Then it's probably not my place to… she's different. She's not the Rachel I first met when we were fresh out of university, she was so bubbly and full of life and then… this friend died and it was like a switch was flipped. I hadn't seen her for close to a year, I was in London, and when I got back to New York, it was like she'd been replaced by a robot or something." He pauses as though he's collecting himself. "But now, she's a lot more like the Rachel I remember. This is the happiest I've seen her in four years." Quinn digests this even though she's heard similar things from Kurt. "I don't think any of us want her to go back to the other Rachel." Quinn remains silent watching the bartender place all of the drinks on the trays in front of them.

Rachel senses immediately that something has happened when Quinn sits down. She slides her hand into Quinn's and squeezes it to get the woman's attention. Quinn gives her a smile but instead of it making Rachel buzz inside, a horrible sinking feeling rushes over her body. Quinn barely says two words for the rest of dinner.

Quinn's silence continues all the way back to the apartment where she disappears into the bathroom to remove the alterations to her appearance. Rachel is sitting on the couch, head resting on her knees, when Quinn walks into the room, shirt unbuttoned and barefoot. Rachel feels her heart hammer.

"What happened?" Rachel asks. "What did Richard say?" Quinn stretches out her arm before grabbing her sling, hanging from the back of her desk chair, and sitting down at the opposite end of the couch.

"He said that he hasn't seen you this happy in four years," Quinn says, fussing with the sling until it sits comfortably.

"Oh," Rachel says, "Well, that's true. I am happy."

"I know," Quinn says. "I don't want that to change."

"Then you really need to find a way for us to be together when this is over," Rachel says, grabbing the hand on Quinn's unbroken arm. Their fingers link together and Quinn closes her eyes, unable to bear the look on Rachel's face any longer.

**xxxxx**

For the third night in a row, Quinn finds herself awake, staring over Rachel's shoulder at the alarm clock. 3am. She closes her eyes, hoping that she'll doze off but gives up two minutes later. She needs to find a way of occupying her mind that doesn't involve waking Rachel up. The shorter woman, wrapped up in Quinn's arms, is exhausted as it is. Carefully, Quinn extracts her arm from Rachel's grasp and edges backwards off the bed.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Go back to sleep," Quinn says, walking around the bed to kneel in front of the brunette, "I'm just getting some water."

''Kay," Rachel mumbles, smiling as Quinn presses her lips to the brunette's. "Miss your face…" Quinn quirks an eyebrow at Rachel before shaking her head and chuckling softly to herself as she leaves the room. Sometimes she could hold entire conversations with the petite woman while she was fast asleep.

Quinn pours herself a glass of water and settles down at her desk, opening her laptop. The bright screen causes her to grimace but her eyes quickly adjust; she taps in her password and waits for the inbuilt camera to take a photo before watching the computer open up a host of programs for her to use.

She sets the water down and picks up the file on top of a pile of folders sitting next to her laptop, flicking through the contents. The bomb kid, Derek Lynch, stares blankly up at her from a photo. A transcript of Jackson's interview with the boy - Quinn still refers to him as a boy given that he looks fifteen at the most despite him being nearly twenty-two - is attached to the photo and background information that Michaels had collected for her. The folder below contains information relating to Derek's cousin, Kyle, who Derek named almost immediately as being the person who gave him the bomb and the letter.

Quinn taps a few times on her keyboard and connects her headphones. Derek's nervous voice fills her ears and she grabs a pen, ready to make any notes, anything that she missed even though she's listened to the recording five times. She forwards through the first thirty seconds where they'd established who Derek was and why he was on set.

"I work there," he says. "A friend of mine got me the job. All I do is serve food." Derek's voice trembles and Quinn smiles at the thought of how terrifying it must be to have Jackson looming over the top of you, scar shining in the half-lit interrogation room.

"Who gave you the bomb?" Jackson's low, rumbling voice causes Quinn to turn up the volume.

"I didn't know it was a bomb, I swear. I thought it was a fake. I thought he was just trying to scare…" Derek's voice cuts off as Jackson talks over him.

"Answer the question and this will take a lot less time," Jackson says. "Who gave you the bomb?"

"My cousin," Derek blurts out, "I haven't seen him in months. He just turned up outside the set and called and…"

"His name?" Jackson asks, voice rising over the boy's.

"Kyle. Kyle Lynch."

"So he turned up outside the set," Jackson says. There's a moment's hesitation before Derek takes a shaky breath.

"He was waiting outside a car. A really nice car. The windows were blacked out. I couldn't see anyone else inside. He gave me the envelope, a key and the bomb. I swear I didn't know it was a real bomb…"

"Yes, we got that," Jackson says. "What kind of car?"

"A Mercedes," Derek says, "I don't know the model. It looked brand new."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"He told me that I just had to hang around the set and wait for the bodyguards to catch me. He told me to look suspicious," Derek says. "And then I started to panic. Kyle gets messed up in bad stuff all the time. My mom took him in for a few years and…"

"What happened when the bodyguards followed you?"

"I found the trailer I was told to find and tried to open the door but the key wouldn't work and I dropped it… then I realised that I had to get rid of the bomb…"

"And you set the countdown off?" Jackson asks.

"I panicked. Two guys were pointing guns at me," he says, sounding close to tears now. "Look, he said if I didn't do this, then he'd kill my mom."

"Then you should have informed the police," Jackson says.

"The police won't…" Derek takes a deep breath, "They never pin anything on him."

"Why?" Jackson asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"The stuff that happened when he was in Iraq," Derek says. "He used to be this awesome guy. He was this guy that I could look up to. And then he went to Iraq and when he came back, everything was different. He… It's like there's a switch inside him. He'll be fine one second, then the next he's punching his fist through walls and trashing our house. My mom calls the police but by the time they get there, he has her convinced that it's her fault and that he can't help the way he is."

Quinn stops the recording and taps her pen against the empty pad of paper in front of her. She pulls up another program and taps in Kyle's name. She scrolls through the information quickly, pausing at his military career. He'd been in Iraq at the same time as her, stationed in a high-risk zone. A list of crimes follows his discharge in 2024. Crimes that he was never punished for all due to a defence of insanity. Quinn frowns and opens a case that had been thrown out just six months ago. It's an assault claim made by a former girlfriend. Quinn pulls up her details and jots them down, figuring that it can't do any harm to pay her a visit.

She listens to the rest of the recording and thinks of nothing else to write down. Feeling slightly less hopeless, she shuts down her laptop and heads back to bed, feeling Rachel shiver as she pulls back the covers even though it's a warm night.

"Where did you go?" Rachel asks, sliding her fingers through Quinn's, holding their joined hands above her heart.

"Nowhere, sweetheart," Quinn says, kissing the back of Rachel's neck and letting her eyes drift shut at last.

**xxxxx**

Agent Montero, Michaels' date at the Emmys, is assigned to watch Rachel the next day while Quinn and Michaels go to question Lynch's ex-girlfriend.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asks, eyeing her replacement bodyguard warily.

"We're just following up on a lead," Quinn says, smiling reassuringly. "We'll be back before you finish here. Honest. Agent Montero is perfectly competent." Rachel nods and watches as Quinn and Michaels leave the studio. Her agent buzzes around her as she settles into the make-up chair, asking inane questions that she's not in the mood to answer.

"So explain again why we're interrogating Lynch's ex-girlfriend," Michaels says as he drives towards the address scrawled on Quinn's notepad.

"I'm grasping at a very limited supply of straws," Quinn says, watching the city fly past as they drive down the highway.

"Right."

"Someone is covering for this guy," Quinn sighs. "He can't just disappear. It's like he doesn't even exist. No-one knows where he is, no-one knows where he's been. Maybe he decided that he could persuade his ex-girlfriend to let him lie low for a while. The police have a warrant out on him too. We just have to hope they haven't been to question her."

"The police?" Michaels looks confused for a second.

"Well, that's _our_ cover story," Quinn says, "Detective Inspector Michaels." She holds up two badges and passes one to Michaels.

"Did you steal these from a cereal box?" he asks, grinning as he pockets the badge. Quinn rolls her eyes and continues to stare out the window. "Casey, if you stare any harder at that window it's going to break. What's up?"

"I need to find a way out," she says softly, not turning to look at Michaels.

"Out? Of The Organisation?" he asks, sounding surprised. "But you can't go back to civilian life…"

"I know," she says, "But I also can't _not_ be with her. I can't break her like that."

"What do _you_ want? You shouldn't throw your life away…" Michaels argues.

"She is my life," Quinn interrupts. "She's been my life since I was sixteen years old. And I messed things up before. I don't want to do that again." Michaels falls into silence and stares at the road ahead, signalling when they reach the exit that will hopefully give them some answers about the elusive Lynch.

"So am I the good cop or the bad cop?" Michaels asks as they pull up outside the house. Quinn chuckles and climbs out, slamming her door and checking out the neighbourhood. They walk up the path together and Quinn knocks heavily on the door.

A minute later the screen door opens and a thin brunette, wispy hair curling around her face, peers back at them.

"Melissa Santos?" Quinn asks, pulling off her sunglasses. The woman nods. "I'm Detective Casey, this is Detective Inspector Michaels." They hold up their badges. "Could we ask you a few questions?"

The woman hesitates before pushing the door open. Michaels goes in first, nodding to the woman with a smile on his face.

"Just in here," Melissa directs them into a small lounge room. "What's wrong?" Quinn stands next to the window as Michaels sits down on an armchair. He gestures for Melissa to sit down on the couch.

"We're trying to locate Kyle Lynch," Michaels says. Melissa visibly recoils at the mention of his name, her eyes growing wide.

"I haven't seen him," she says quickly, "Not since that day when they threw out my case. Is he in trouble?"

"We're led to believe that he's always in some sort of trouble, Ms Santos," Quinn says with a tight smile. "We're just checking known acquaintances to get an idea of where he might be."

"I haven't seen him," Melissa says immediately. Her hands have started shaking and Quinn frowns.

"Ms Santos, can we talk about your case?" Michaels shoots her a glance. "I mean, why it was thrown out."

"They said he was crazy, that he wasn't in control," she says and shakes her head. "He knew exactly what he was doing."

"We've spoken with his cousin," Quinn says, pretending to check the name on her notepad, "Derek. It sounds as though Kyle is a dangerous man to be around."

"Only if you're a woman," Melissa says, her eyes fixated on the ground now. "He would never hurt Derek. Or any of his friends." Quinn and Michaels share a look.

"Did Kyle ever talk to you about Iraq?" Michaels asks. Melissa bites down on her bottom lip.

"Only when he was mad," she says. "He'd go on and on about one of the women in his troop. How she ruined everything, how it was unfair that she got promoted over him, that if he'd been in charge they wouldn't have lost so many men." This hangs in the air as both Quinn and Michaels absorb the information.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time, Ms Santos," Michaels says, getting to his feet, "We're sorry for the intrusion."

"One more question," Quinn says, pushing away from the window ledge. "Do you happen to have anything that Kyle wrote? Letters?" Melissa shakes her head.

"He never wrote me letters," she says, "And after the case was thrown out, I threw out everything he'd ever touched." She walks to the door with Quinn and Michaels. "You should speak to Gary Sullivan."

"Gary Sullivan," Michaels repeats. "Is he a friend of Kyle's?"

"They were in Iraq together," she says, not offering any further information.

"Thank you, Ms Santos," Quinn says, sliding her sunglasses back on as they walk down the path again. Neither speaks until they've pulled back onto the highway.

"At least we have some sort of motive now," Michaels says, glancing over at Quinn.

"We need to find out who the woman was," Quinn says, "And find Gary Sullivan."

"I'll get right on it, boss," he says, driving back towards the studio. Quinn feels the anxious knot in her stomach that had formed the minute she had left Rachel start to loosen.

**xxxxx**

Quinn groans, rolling her shoulders as pushes another couple of keys on her laptop. She hears paper rustle behind her followed by light footsteps and then Rachel's hands run down her neck, slipping under the tank top to massage her taut muscles.

"That's good," Quinn mumbles, forcing her head back to look at Rachel. Only it isn't Rachel. It isn't the Rachel she knows. Quinn scrambles away, pushing her chair out of the way and running out of the lounge into the corridor. The front door is bolted shut and footsteps are gaining on her. A hand grabs her arm, the broken one still encased in white plaster and she pulls out her gun, firing shots wildly at the monster behind her.

Quinn blinks into the darkness of the room, sitting upright, her breathing uneven as she tries to calm down. Rachel's hand on her back makes her jump and she turns, relieved when it's _her_ Rachel. Not the monster from her dream.

"What happened?" Rachel asks, rubbing her hand in circles on Quinn's back.

"Just a nightmare… you were… you weren't you," Quinn says, closing her eyes for a second. "You were… like a zombie. I guess."

"It was just a dream, Quinn," Rachel says soothingly, "Lie back down." Still trying to regain control of her breathing, Quinn allows herself to be pushed back onto the pillow. Rachel lies down with her, half-covering Quinn's body with her own, her hand slipping beneath the cotton tank top Quinn's wearing.

"Rachel, what are you…" Quinn doesn't finish her sentence as Rachel's fingers find their mark. "Mmm."

"I'm making you forget all about your dream," Rachel says, letting her lips drag down Quinn's neck. "Is it working?"

"Like a charm," Quinn whispers, twisting her fingers in Rachel's hair.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asks, her lips still brushing against a sensitive spot on Quinn's neck. "You've been in a bad mood since Michaels called earlier."

"He didn't have any news," Quinn says, her eyes fluttering closed under Rachel's ministrations. "We have two teams trying to find these guys and so far, nothing. It's like they've disappeared off the face of the earth." Rachel's hand cups Quinn's breast and she rolls the pad of her thumb over her nipple.

"You'll find them," Rachel says.

"But…" Quinn starts, guilt rising up in her chest.

"Quinn, I trust you," Rachel states. "You're not going to let anything happen to me." Quinn nods and brings Rachel's face up towards her own, kissing the brunette softly. She lets a grin slip over her features as Rachel starts to slide down her body, pulling down her sweatpants as she goes, her supple tongue dancing over Quinn's skin.

**xxxxx**

Rachel's in the middle of shooting a scene when Quinn notices Michaels talking to Hank at the other side of the stage. Hank is holding a piece of paper, another letter. Quinn whips out her cell phone, typing a frantic message to Michaels.

"Michaels, get that out of here."

She snaps her phone shut and watches the men retreat, turning her focus back to Rachel. Despite everything that's going on, the shorter woman's performance on camera is perfect every time.

Quinn waits for the director to yell 'cut' before taking out her cell again to call Michaels. "What does it say?"

"'Bang bang,'" he says. "That's it."

"All of the weapons on set have been checked, haven't they?" Quinn asks, glancing around at the hundreds of extras all carrying replica guns.

"Yes," Michaels says. "And the set is locked down. No-one is getting near the stage without going through three of Hank's guys."

"Quiet down, people," a voice yells and Quinn hangs up, sliding the phone back into her pocket. She frowns as Rachel takes up her position, an extra is pointing a gun straight at her chest. They'd practised this scene the night before.

"Trust me," Quinn had said, "I know what it's like." Rachel had smiled up at her and pretended to shoot. Quinn had jumped in the air and landed heavily at the base of the bed. "Like that."

"But only with a lot more cursing," Rachel had said, rolling her eyes. "You've never been shot in the chest."

"Lucky us," Quinn had said, crawling back up the bed to kiss Rachel, both women immediately forgetting about the scene.

The smell of the smoke bombs brings Quinn back to the present. Her phone starts vibrating in her pocket but she can't answer, not at this part of the scene. Her eyes catch movement at the other side of the set and she moves among the camera equipment to get a better look. Her phone starts vibrating again but stops quickly. A message.

"Sullivan," is all it says. Quinn glances back up, hand already grabbing for her gun as she runs towards Rachel, darting between bodies and smoke. The extra levels the gun at Rachel's chest, but it's not him Quinn has her eyes on. The man at the other side of the set raises his rifle to aim.

There's a commotion as the director starts yelling about Quinn being in front of the cameras but she doesn't hear any of it. The extra fires the gun at the same moment as the half-hidden man. Quinn launches herself at Rachel, knocking her to the ground. The former blonde lands a few feet away, not moving.

Two more shots ring out and people start screaming and running.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is hazy in her ear. "Alex? No!" She feels a hand press against her chest. "No, Alex, look at me."

"Casey," Michaels skids to a halt next to her, pushing her onto her back. "Shit." She stares up blankly, breath leaving her in tiny pants.

"Rach," she whispers.

"Casey, you've been shot," Michaels says, pressing a wad of cloth against the bullet wound.

"Rachel," she says again.

"Baby, you're going to be okay," Rachel says, appearing above her. Quinn notes that the lights above make Rachel look like an angel and she smiles in spite of the pain ripping through her chest.

"Read the letters," Quinn wheezes out as Rachel's face starts to swirl. She closes her eyes and feels a hand grab onto hers, Rachel's fingers tangling around her own. "Promise."

"I promise I'll read them," Rachel chokes out through her sobs.

"I love you," Quinn mutters then everything fades to black and she feels weightless, suspended in the darkness.

The pain stops.


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel takes the elevator to their apartment, not trusting her legs to carry her up the stairs. Another wave of nausea passes through her body as the image of Quinn lying broken on the ground floods her mind again. Michaels stands next to her, his face pinched in concentration. 

"She's going to be okay," he says when the elevator arrives at the fourth floor. "She's stable and we're arranging for her to be transported to our hospital as soon as possible."

Rachel doesn't speak, just fumbles with the key as tears blur her vision again.

"Rachel…" he says, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumps and turns to face him.

"Leave me alone, please," she says, her voice breaking on every syllable. He opens his mouth to argue but Rachel has already disappeared inside the apartment and slammed the door shut, the click of the lock echoing in the otherwise empty hallway. His phone rings as he trudges back down to the parking lot.

"Michaels," he answers.

"It's Jackson," the booming voice says on the other end of the line. He reels off an address and Michaels sprints towards his car, ready to take his anger out on the son of a bitch who did this.

**xxxxx**

The apartment feels different. Rachel collapses onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her body, unable to keep the tears from falling now. She doubles over as the pain cuts through her like a knife then pushes herself off the couch, running to the kitchen to throw up in the sink. Her hands are still stained despite scrubbing them raw in the bathroom at the hospital. They hadn't even let her near Quinn's room.

She rinses out her mouth and stumbles back to the couch, the apartment still in darkness, apart from a sliver of moonlight seeping through a crack in the curtains. It falls on Quinn's desk. Remembering the promise she made to Quinn, Rachel dives for the desk, wrenching open the top drawer.

A large brown envelope stares back up at her. Her name is printed on the front in Quinn's spidery writing.

Gripping the envelope, she walks to the spare room, unable to face seeing the bed where she and Quinn woke up that morning, limbs tangled, only sixteen hours ago. She opens the unsealed envelope and tips everything onto the bedspread.

**xxxxx**

Michaels shrugs off his jacket, noticing for the first time that it's stained with blood, and rolls his sleeves up after loosening his tie. Jackson is waiting for him outside the nondescript building. He climbs out of his car and walks inside, following the scarred man through a maze of corridors.

"You got Lynch too?" the shorter man asks.

"Sullivan started crying like a bitch as soon as we bundled him in the back of the van," Jackson says, shaking his head. "I thought you'd want the first hit… y'know, for Casey." Michaels remains silent. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine," Michaels replies, hoping that if he repeats it enough times that he'll start to believe it. He's seen Agents recover from worse injuries and Casey is tough.

Jackson stops outside a room and punches in a five-digit code before pressing his hand against an electronic scanner. The door slides open and the two men step inside. Through one-way glass, Michaels stares at the man who'd shot Quinn, bile rising in his throat as he remembers the way Quinn's body had landed on the ground, broken, and the way her blood had run through his fingers.

Michaels rolls his shoulders and pulls out his gun, before glancing around at the five sets of eyes stationed around the room.

"Remember we need to hand him over to the police at some point," Jackson cautions, "He's already got two bullets in him." Michaels wordlessly leaves the room and the door automatically opens to the next.

"Leave," Michaels orders the two men in suits guarding the man who shot his partner. As soon as he's alone with Sullivan, he walks to the centre of the room where the man is bowed, bound to a chair. Michaels reaches down and wrenches the man's head back. Blood is already oozing from a cut on his forehead and bandages have been wrapped tightly around his lower leg and upper arm where the bullets Michaels had fired hit the man before Hank's security men tackled him to the ground.

"I want a lawyer," he rasps.

"We don't work that way," Michaels says, pulling his fist back. The resounding crack makes half of the men in the room next door grimace and the other half smirk. The man howls and starts crying. Michaels stretches his hand, feeling his knuckles crack, as he grabs a chair from the corner of the room, turning it backwards and sitting down in front of Sullivan.

"Tell me why," Michaels says. "I want to know why."

"Lynch made me," Sullivan says immediately, "He threatened my family. I've been trying to get away from him since we got back from Iraq, but he gives me money and says he'll kill my sisters and my mom…"

"Lynch _made_ you," Michaels says, snarling at the man. "He made you break onto the set today and try to kill an innocent woman… Do you know what happened to the other woman who took the bullet? She's going to die." He lifts Sullivan's head again only for the man to spit at him, his eyes wild now. Michaels wipes his face and stands up again, moving the chair out of the way. This time his punch sends the man to the floor.

**xxxxx**

Pieces of paper are clutched tightly in Rachel's hand, the bedside light glowing dimly, casting shadows against the wall and illuminating the brunette's face. She's curled at the top of the bed with her head resting on a pillow, a blanket pulled tightly around her, tired eyes moving quickly over Quinn's handwriting.

The first letter is dated a week ago.

_Rachel,_

_As I write this, you are fast asleep in the next room. I never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams, that this is how my life would turn out. But clearly, something has gone wrong, because you're reading this._

_If I'm still alive (though I use this word loosely given that the thought of not being with you tears me apart), I am going to find a way to be with you, Rachel. I don't know how and I don't know when, but I will find a way. I know I can't force you to wait for me but we've already waited this long. Please trust that I will be doing whatever I can to get back to you as soon as I can. I will fight whoever I have to, to spend my life with you._

Rachel stops here, pausing to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. She skips over the next paragraph, surmising that Quinn would go on to tell her what to do if she had died.

_Weeks ago, you found the other letter. I wrote this the night after we met again, the day before the letter was found in your trailer. At the time, I planned on delivering this letter to you before telling my boss that I could no longer work on this job but then I realised that I couldn't live with myself if someone else, someone who doesn't love you as much as I do, let something happen to you._

_Maybe I should have let you read the letter when you found it; after all, I wrote it for you. But I wasn't ready for you to know how I felt about you, how I continue to feel about you. Everything I've ever felt about you, for you, Rachel, is in this letter._

Placing the first letter aside, Rachel shifts onto her back holding the second letter above her. She reaches for her phone to check the time and finds missed calls from her agent, Michaels and Kurt. Grimacing, she switches her phone off and reaches for the second letter again.

**xxxxx**

Michaels shakes his head as Rachel's phone goes straight to voicemail.

"No answer?" Jackson asks, stepping into the corridor to find Michaels slipping his phone back into his pocket. He doesn't respond; instead, he flexes his fingers, his knuckles already starting to bruise.

"Why are you calling her?"

"I'm still her bodyguard," Michaels responds. "Just because Alex… Casey is laid up in hospital doesn't mean that Rachel Berry isn't my number one priority right now. I've got Montero watching her building."

"Bullshit, Michaels," Jackson says, a brief smile passing his lips. "You got a thing for her?"

"Watch it, Jackson," Michaels orders, glaring at the taller man. "I'm ready for Lynch now. And as much as I want the bastard to bleed to death, you should probably get Sullivan to a hospital."

Jackson nods and steps back into the room with Michaels following. He watches as Sullivan is cut free from the chair and lifted from the room by two men. They turn their attention to the adjoining room at the other side, another pane one-way glass showing Kyle Lynch, already lying on the floor, eyes closed. "You hit him?" Michaels quirks an eyebrow at Jackson.

"He wasn't being very… polite," Jackson says, his smirk causes his scarred face to look even more terrifying. "Plus I wanted to get a shot in for Casey too."

Michaels squares his shoulders and walks out of the room, waiting to be buzzed into the second holding room. Lynch's guards stand stoically in the corner of the room. Michaels doesn't dismiss them, just in case. It wouldn't be the first time he went overboard during an interrogation. He allows a half-smile to cross his features as he recalls the look on Quinn's face as she pulled him away from a man who made a living out of kidnapping children and selling them to the highest bidder. The blows he'd delivered to the man caused Quinn to report Michaels for unprofessional behaviour, despite her admitting that it had taken all of her restraint not to take a gun or her own fists to the kidnapper.

Lynch grunts as he hears footsteps near his head and rolls his eyes to look up at Michaels.

"Michaels," he sneers. The Agent keeps his face smooth, not showing the surprise he feels that Lynch knows his name. "How's Alex doing?"

"She'll live," Michaels answers calmly. Clearly, Lynch had been watching them a lot more closely than either he or Quinn suspects. "Not sure about your man Sullivan though. Even if he does, he'll be going away for a long, long time. Much like yourself." Lynch snorts.

"Not the first time I've heard that," he says, giving a short, bark-like laugh. Michaels feels his hand clench at his side and walks around Lynch before hoisting him upright. Lynch's head lolls backwards, a sick grin splitting his face.

"You, Sullivan, the two guys we picked up, your cousin… you'll all be locked up somewhere to rot," Michaels says quietly, "I'll make sure of it. No insanity defence is going to get you out of this one." Lynch is quiet now, staring at a spot past Michaels' shoulder. "Nothing to say?"

"She deserved it," his face contorts into one of agony. "The bitch deserved it." He brings his head forward, trying to beat it against his chest. "It's _her_ fault. She ruined everything."

"Melissa?" Michaels asks, not trying to stop the man from injuring himself.

"Helena," he moans the name as if he's in pain. "She told me that we'd be together." Michaels recognises the name of the woman Lynch had served under in Iraq. "She loved me. And I loved her. And then she cheated on me with that whore…" His eyes pop open and tears appear to clear his vision, "I couldn't let it happen…" Michaels frowns. "I killed them." Michaels feels a jolt surge through his stomach. He's killed before but he's never heard anyone sound so happy about committing the act.

"Why did you go after Ms Berry?" Michaels asks, folding his arms across his chest. Lynch doesn't answer, now staring at the floor, legs tugging ineffectually against the bonds tying him to the chair. Michael draws out his gun and shoves it in Lynch's face, jabbing the butt against the man's bruised temple. "Tell me." Lynch starts to laugh, a maniacal laugh that bounces off the walls.

"She doesn't understand," he says at last, wheezing through his gasps of laughter. "She doesn't know what it's like to be there, to see what we've seen. She's just an actress, a fucking woman who doesn't know shit about anything. The whole film is bullshit!" he shouts now. "It's bullshit."

"That doesn't give you the right to threaten people's lives," Michaels says, his voice starting to rise. He feels his hand twitch at his side again but reigns in his desire to smash Lynch's face into the floor. "It doesn't give you the right to kill innocent people."

"She and that fucking whore Agent deserve to die. Just like Helena and that fucking dyke who turned her against me," are the last words Lynch spits out before Michaels snaps. The punch sends Lynch crashing to the floor, the chair he's bound to splinters and cracks and blood sprays from the man's mouth as Michaels' fist dislodges some of the man's teeth. Taking a deep breath, Michaels straightens up and walks out of the room.

**xxxxx**

"Alex."

Quinn smiles at the sound of Rachel's voice and opens her eyes. She's back in their apartment and Rachel is standing in the doorway of the lounge, wearing a shirt and nothing else. Rachel walks towards her, a smile on her face and climbs onto the other end of the couch, crawling up Quinn's body to straddle her waist.

"I just had the weirdest dream," Quinn says, sliding a hand up Rachel's thigh.

The smile slides from the brunette's face and she pulls a gun from behind her back, firing two bullets into Quinn's chest before the former blonde can even react.

"Alex."

This time her eyes blink open and take a few seconds to focus. She glances around quickly, assessing her surroundings. A tube protrudes from her arm, clear liquid rushing into her veins. She tries to take a breath and it feels like someone has stabbed her.

"Fuck," she groans, running a hand over her chest, feeling a thick wad of bandages surrounding her. Then she remembers the bullet. Did she get to Rachel in time?

"Hey, there you are," Mac's voice is cheerful as he appears in her line of vision. "We're just about good to go. You've been out of it for two days now." She now recognises that she's in Mac's plane.

"Rachel," she says, the word is like a sword in her side.

"You saved her," Mac says. "She's good." Quinn knows this is a lie. Though she's alive, not knowing where Quinn is; not knowing if Quinn is alive would be killing her. "You on the other hand…" he makes a face. "Haven't you had enough of these bullets yet?" Quinn closes her eyes, feeling the drugs rushing through the tube wash her back to sleep.

**xxxxx**

Kurt is waiting at the gate when Rachel arrives, hidden behind sunglasses, Justine right behind her. There are no cameras because no-one in Los Angeles, except Michaels, knows that she's made this trip. Kurt pulls Rachel tightly into his arms and rests his chin on the top of her head, rocking her back and forth until he feels the tears seep through his shirt.

"Come on," he says, sliding his arm around Rachel's waist and guiding her out of the airport, her bag in his other hand.

Kurt had been on the verge of getting on a plane to Los Angeles when Rachel finally called him back, sounding exhausted. From the garbled conversation they had, he surmised that Rachel would be arriving in New York the next morning. Quinn had been shot.

After saying goodbye to Justine at the airport, they take a cab to Rachel's apartment. Kurt leads Rachel to the lounge, leaving her on the couch while he moves from room to room, opening curtains and windows to let some fresh air in and gathering the mail that has collected over the couple of days that he hasn't checked on the apartment. When he returns, he offers her a glass of water and she takes a long gulp.

"Get my pills," Rachel says, her voice completely devoid of emotion, of modulation.

"Rach…"

"Goddammit, Kurt," she snaps, "I don't want to feel anything. I need something to stop the pain before I fall apart." The man sighs and hops off the couch, running to the brunette's bedroom to find an unopened packet of white tablets in her nightstand.

"Here," he says, thrusting one at her when he returns.

"Two, please," she gestures for the packet but Kurt keeps it out of her reach.

"Rachel," he tries again but she cuts him off with a look that would kill him if such things were possible.

"She's gone, Kurt," her voice cracks and her body shudders as she tries to cover up a sob, "I just need to get away from this." Silently, Kurt pops another pill from the packet and hands them to her, watching as she weighs them in her hand, glass of water trembling in the other. "I haven't taken any of these in months."

"You don't need to take them now, Rachel," he says gently. "You need to work through the pain…"

"You have no idea what I'm feeling right now, Kurt," Rachel says, her voice breaking in anguish. "She took a bullet to the chest. A bullet meant for me. She pushed me out of the way then fell to the ground. Her blood was all over my hands and I couldn't get it off. Then she was gone. I don't know, for sure, if she's alive or if she's dead. Michaels will let me know when he knows. I don't know if I'll see her again. I don't know…" Rachel takes a ragged breath. "I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm angry, I'm upset, I'm… I'm fucking freaking out. I've lost her again, Kurt." She drops the tablets onto the table and takes another mouthful of water.

"I knew she'd do this to you," Kurt says quietly, the words dropping from his mouth before he can stop them. Rachel pushes him away as she climbs off the couch.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear right now," she says scathingly, "Thank you. Thank you for being such an understanding friend, Kurt." He stands up, trying to put his arms around her.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm so sorry, Rachel."

"You just… you can't say things like that," she whispers. "You have no idea how it was having her back in my life, feeling like, for once, everything made sense." She stops gesturing long enough for Kurt to wrap his arms around her, rubbing circles across her back.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, at a loss for what else to say. Everything else on the tip of his tongue would be a slight against Quinn for doing this to his best friend again. He closes his eyes as Rachel's body begins to shake against his' and he starts to hum a familiar song in her ear, lifting her back over to the couch, waiting for her to fall asleep.

**xxxxx**

Michaels paces outside the office, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridor, bright sunlight glaring in from the window at the far end.

"Michaels," the door opens and he walks inside, taking a seat opposite his boss, "How are you?"

"How is Agent Casey?" Michaels asks, ignoring the man's question. "I know she was transported to Oregon. Is she okay?"

"Agent Casey is recovering from her injuries," the man says, inclining his head slightly, his fingers pressed together on the desk in front of him. Michaels exhales heavily, his heart rate slowing significantly. "I understand you were with Agent Jackson for the interrogation of the suspects."

"Sir, they _shot_ Agent Casey, they admitted to the threats, the bombs… unrelated murders…" Michaels says, his still-bruised hands clenching into fists.

"Michaels," the man barks, causing the Agent's mouth to snap shut, "You are now on strike two. If I witness or hear any further reports of your conduct, I will have no choice but to move you to Headquarters."

Michaels actually feels the blood in his veins run cold. This, of course, is code. The Organisation has no singular building acting as headquarters. Being moved to Headquarters usually meant that an Agent was never seen or heard from again.

"Sir, that really won't be necessary," Michaels says quickly. "I got carried away. The things they said about Agent Casey…"

"The personal feelings you have for Agent Casey aside, you will follow orders," the man says sternly. "I cannot have you jeopardising the future of this operation." He pauses and his face lightens, "You are willing to complete the mission as Ms Berry's bodyguard?" Michaels merely nods. "Excellent. I suggest that you get back to California then."

Michaels is excused and as soon as he leaves the building and hails a cab, he takes out his cell phone to tell Rachel the good news.

**xxxxx**

Quinn groans as pain shoots through her body. She's been drifting in and out of consciousness for days now, hazy because of the morphine being fed into her veins. The pain isn't the only cause of her groans though. Every time she closes her eyes, images of Rachel flood her mind. Her eyes blink open and she stares up at the ceiling, grimacing as she tries to take a deep breath. She flexes her fingers, curling them into the blanket covering her.

"Good afternoon, Alex," a nurse says, bustling into the room with a tray of food, "Ready to try eating?" Quinn shakes her head and closes her eyes again. The nurse fusses around Quinn's bed, adjusting the machines and reaching behind Quinn to fluff up her pillows. "I'll just leave this here. Starving yourself won't make things any better." Quinn rolls her eyes, even though the nurse can't see her do so. She listens to the footsteps retreat and opens her eyes again, glancing down at the tray of food. Her stomach gives an audible grumble and she sighs, cursing under her breath as she manoeuvres herself into a sitting position.

She picks at the food for close to an hour before the nurse returns and shoots a grin at the injured woman.

"Feel better?" she asks, as Quinn pushes the tray away, easing herself back onto her pillows, feeling dizzy with the exertion.

"Not really," Quinn replies, her voice rasping through lack of use. "How long have I been here?"

"Nearly two weeks," the nurse replies, writing notes on Quinn's chart. Two weeks. Quinn's chest tightens as she tries to imagine what Rachel's going through right now.

"Have I had any visitors?" Quinn asks, vague memories of someone sitting next to her bed surface in her mind. She isn't sure if it was a dream or not.

"Only one that I'm aware of," the nurse responds. "Good looking guy, tall, short black hair, muscles…" That could describe virtually half the agents Quinn had worked with, "Matthews? Martin? Michaels?"

"Michaels. When was he here?" Quinn asks.

"A few days ago?" the nurse says with a half-shrug. "He said he'd be back sometime this week."

Quinn nods, feeling herself float away as the morphine takes over her body again.

**xxxxx**

"Cut!"

Rachel is joined by Michaels as she moves off the set, walking quickly towards her trailer.

"Rachel…" he calls, grabbing her by the elbow.

"Let go," she hisses. "Why are you even here? You caught the bad guys. You don't have to babysit me anymore."

"I'm under orders…" Michaels begins but stops when Rachel rolls her eyes and jerks out of his grip, marching on to her trailer. "We need to talk."

"Fine. Talk."

"Not here," Michaels says, aware that their exchange is already drawing curious looks, not that Rachel hasn't been on the receiving end of them since the shooting. "I'll come to the apartment tonight." Rachel nods and disappears inside her trailer, closing the door and collapsing against it. She slides down to the floor and draws her knees up to her chest, closing her eyes as the first tears she's crying that day start to pour down her cheeks.

**xxxxx**

Michaels drives Rachel to the apartment after she finishes shooting for the day, stopping at the brunette's favourite take-out restaurant on the way even though she insists that she isn't hungry.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Rachel asks after she's taken three bites of her meal and dropped the container onto the table. Michaels frowns and puts his own down.

"You need to eat," he says, nudging the box back towards Rachel.

"Spare me the lecture," Rachel sighs. "I have enough people worrying about my well-being without you adding to it.

"I'm going to see Alex," Michaels says. When Rachel doesn't respond, he glances up at the petite brunette. "I thought you'd want to know."

Rachel picks up her fork and spears a piece of broccoli.

"Where is she?" she asks, her voice eerily even.

"In one of our hospitals," Michaels says. "Agent Montero will be watching you. I'll only be gone for a day."

Rachel knows better than to ask if she'll be allowed to go with him.

"I thought you'd want to know, in case you want me to pass anything on to her," he says. Rachel merely nods and continues to pick at her food in silence. "I'm going on Friday."

"Okay," Rachel says eventually. "Thanks for letting me know." Michaels nods and finishes his food before leaving Rachel for the evening, though he lingers in the car park for an hour, staring up at the building.

As soon as Michaels is out the door, Rachel flips the latch on and heads back to the lounge. She throws her uneaten dinner in the trash and sits down on the couch, mindlessly flicking through channel after channel, too restless to settle on any program. With a groan, she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the cushions. Images of Quinn assault her immediately.

"Give me a break," Rachel mutters out loud. Quinn merely smiles back at her and walks towards the couch, leaning down to press her lips to the brunette's neck. "I'm starting to lose it," Rachel whispers as the tears start again. She's surprised that she isn't suffering from extreme dehydration because of the amount of crying she's done over the past few weeks.

Quinn climbs onto the couch, straddling the shorter woman's lap, ducking her head to run her lips over Rachel's pulse point.

"Quinn," Rachel moans, her hands sliding around the blonde's waist before frowning. Quinn isn't blonde, not anymore. Rachel's eyes fly open, wet with fresh tears. She sits up, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, wondering if there will be a day where she doesn't break down in tears at the thought of Quinn.

After shutting off the television, Rachel grabs a few sheets of paper from Quinn's desk and heads to the second bedroom, still unable to sleep in the room she shared with Quinn. She wraps herself up in the blankets and, biting on the cap of her pen, starts to write.

**xxxxx**

Quinn is staring blankly at the television when Michaels arrives. He knocks lightly on the door and she glances over at him, a smile spreading across her face.

"Hey," she says, gesturing for him to come in.

"You're looking better," he notes, drawing a chair closer to the bed.

"I feel like shit," she manages a half-grin before lapsing into a grimace as she tries to push herself upright. "But at least I'm not drugged out of my mind like I have been for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, that means I enjoy most of the crap on TV a lot less."

"Let me help," Michaels is on his feet in an instant to prop Quinn up on her pillows.

"I'm supposed to be doing that on my own," she says, closing her eyes as she shifts slightly, gritting her teeth at the sharp stab of pain that shoots through her body. Michaels sits down again, reaching into his coat pocket to draw out an envelope. He passes it to Quinn who turns it over in her hands, running her fingertips over the writing on the front. "How is she?"

Michaels shakes his head and frowns. "Not great."

"You're still her bodyguard then? Even though we got the bad guys?"

"I'm going to be there until the end of the shoot," he says, "Just in case. Got my second warning." He allows himself a grin.

"What did you do?" Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow at her ex-partner.

"Jackson invited me along to interrogate Sullivan and Lynch," he says, flexing his fingers. "I might have gone a little overboard." Quinn chuckles and shakes her head.

"Will you ever learn?" she asks, focusing on the envelope again. "I have to get out."

"I know," he says with a nod. "She's falling apart, Alex. I have no idea what to say to her, how to act around her. She's pushing everyone away. She's like a robot on set and a recluse off it. Have you spoken with the boss? Are you going to be rejoining this mission or assigned elsewhere?"

Quinn shrugs.

"He's going to come next week to discuss my future. I can't imagine that I'll be rejoining the mission."

"And you're going to ask to leave?" Michaels lowers his voice.

"That's the plan," Quinn says.

"You can still be with her, even if you don't leave The Organisation," he says, trying to think of anything that will keep Quinn from making, what he believes to be, the biggest mistake of her life.

"I can't," Quinn shakes her head, "Not the way I want to be with her. It wouldn't be enough for her. It wouldn't be enough for me either."

"You're giving up everything for her… what about you?" he asks, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice and failing miserably.

"If I stay, then I'm giving her up," Quinn says, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on her blanket, "And I'm not prepared to do that." She pauses, glancing up at him. "Aren't you tired of this? Of going home to an empty apartment? Spending holidays alone? Never seeing your family?" Michaels bristles when she says this and she knows she's hit a nerve. "Don't begrudge me because I've decided I want to wake up and go to bed with the person I love, that I want to spend holidays doing cheesy holiday stuff with someone, that I want to settle down. I haven't had a proper home since I was sixteen years old." Quinn smiles half-heartedly, "At least you _can_ still see your family. They don't think you're dead."

Michaels is silent for a few minutes, turning his attention to the TV set in the corner of the room.

"I'm not welcome there," he says at last, eyes still locked on a commercial for the latest miracle stain remover. Quinn watches the twitch in the man's jaw grow more pronounced by the second. "What do you know about my life before I joined The Organisation?"

"Next to nothing," Quinn admits, unsurprised to realise this. Her first lesson, her hardest lesson, had been to stop living in the past and so she'd learned not to ask about other people's, "I know that you didn't come from a military background, but apart from that, nothing."

"I was recruited when I was eighteen." Quinn is sure she can hear him grinding his teeth. "Straight out of high school and headed for college. I had a girlfriend and you know, my life was pretty sweet." A quick smile passes over his lips. "My brothers and I never had to ask for anything, we were just handed everything on a plate. I was going to go to Harvard and study law; that's what was expected. My dad and his dad and my great-grandfather all studied there and I was the oldest, so I felt duty-bound to follow in their footsteps." He pauses, his shoulders rising in a deep sigh. "The boss came to me after my final football game of the year… we won, of course, and he approached me… I thought he might have been a scout or something. I guess, in a way, he was."

Michaels turns back to face Quinn, his face thoughtful.

"He gave me the story. Come work for us, see the world, chase down bad guys. They sell it so well. Anyway, I thought it sounded awesome. Who wouldn't? I wanted to start straight away. I wanted to go shoot guns and take down the bad guys but because of my age, they sent me to college. My parents, my dad in particular, didn't understand. Obviously, I couldn't _tell_ him what I was going to do with my life. I just made up some lame-ass excuse about not wanting to waste my life working behind a desk. That was eleven years ago," he says, his eyes closing briefly. "The last thing my dad said to me was that I was a disgrace to his family and that they never wanted to see me again."

Quinn bites down on her lip, regretting saying anything about his family.

"I'm sorry," she offers.

A long, awkward silence follows while both Agents watch commercials for dog food, cat food and another miracle stain remover.

"My dad threw me out. When I was sixteen," Quinn blurts it out before she even realises what she's saying.

"Figured you were a badass growing up," Michaels says, looking relieved as he turns, happy that the conversation has steered away from him. Quinn sends him a rueful smile and shakes her head.

"Sorry to disappoint," she says with a short laugh. "I was the model pupil. Straight A's, captain of the cheerleading squad, leader of the celibacy club." Michaels' eyebrows rise almost comically.

"Seriously?" he asks. Quinn nods in return.

"But I fell pregnant," she says, "With my boyfriend's best friend's baby. When my dad found out, he threw me out. Just before the baby was born, my parents split up and I ended up living with my mom again for a while. But I was still my daddy's girl and when he brought up military school, a way to get some 'sorely-needed discipline' back into my life, I jumped at the chance to make him proud of me again. But it was never enough. I could always see it in his eyes, I could feel it… I was a failure. A failure who got knocked up by some guy who got me drunk and told me I wasn't fat." Quinn pauses, collecting her thoughts, shaking her head when she realises that she's revealed far too much. "He died. I was in Iraq at the time, after the third reinvasion. I didn't make it home for his funeral."

"My dad's sick," Michaels says heavily. "I speak with my youngest brother from time to time."

"Would you see him, if you could?" Quinn asks. Michaels responds straight away with a nod. "Then think about it? Look at me and Rachel. It took us sixteen years to get our shit together and hopefully, someday we'll be okay." Quinn glances at the envelope bearing her name. "Unless this letter tells me to fuck off."

"I doubt that," Michaels grimaces. "She really loves you."

"I love her too," Quinn whispers as tears start to form at the corners of her eyes. Michaels remains silent, reaching for the shaking brunette's hand. "You tell anyone about this, I'll have Jackson kill you." Quinn smiles through her tears and Michaels lets out a laugh.

"I believe that," he says, removing his hand from Quinn's. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Despite being a complete ass to you over the past few years, you're one of the best Agents I've worked with."

"Thanks, Evan," Quinn says and Michaels grins.

"Not my real name," he says.

"And you think mine's is Alex?" Quinn quirks an eyebrow at him. "Is Montero watching her?" He nods. "There haven't been any more threats, have there? I've been watching the news and they barely even reported that there had been a shooting on the set. Actually, they said that there was a shooter but no-one was injured. I guess I really am a figment of their imaginations."

"_That_ took a lot of effort to cover up," Michaels says, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers behind his head, "But it's all blowing over now. Security is tighter than ever. I really have nothing to do."

"I feel better knowing you're there," Quinn admits, "Knowing that someone I can trust is watching her." She raises a hand to the bottom edge of her bandage and pulls at it slightly. "I definitely wish I'd been shot in the arm again."

"I should probably let you rest," Michaels says, moving out of his chair. "I have to get back." He slides his jacket on and heads for the door.

"Michaels?" Quinn calls, causing the man to turn back. "Good luck. For the future."

Knowing that this is goodbye, that it's entirely likely that they'll never see one another again, Michaels feels his chest constrict slightly and nods.

"You too," he says, a half-smile on his lips before he leaves, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he goes.

**xxxxx**

"Kurt, I'm fine," Rachel insists, emptying a carton of orange juice into a glass. At the answering silence, she sighs. "Okay, not fine. I'm coping."

"You know I will catch a flight down there whenever you need me to, right?" Kurt's voice crackles slightly over the line.

"I know," Rachel says, carrying the juice and a new packet of cookies into the lounge before curling up on the sofa, drawing a blanket up over her legs. There's a flurry of noise in the background and the sound of Kurt barking orders at an unknown person called Tony.

"No, no… hang on," Kurt says exasperatedly. "Rach, honey, I have to go. Call me if there's anything."

The pair hangs up and Rachel reaches for a cookie before turning up the volume on the television. She grimaces when she realises that it's one of her own movies and hastily changes the channel to one of the newer James Bond films she's never seen despite being given tickets to the premiere a few years ago.

Her mind wanders, as it inevitably does every moment she isn't focused on making the movie, to Quinn. To every moment they shared, to the moments they _could_ have shared if only they'd admitted how they felt all those summers ago when they'd sat on Santana's lawn and Brittany had snapped the photo of the two of them.

Rachel grabs the cookies and makes her way to the bedroom, shutting off the TV and the lights as she goes. Sitting next to the bed, on top of Quinn's letters, is the photograph. Rachel's eyes feast on it, almost greedily; her heart rate increases as she stares at the look of total adoration on Quinn's face. Why hadn't she realised sooner?

Before placing the photograph back on the bedside table, she scoops up Quinn's letters and rifles through the longer of the two, passing over what happened in military school, her tours in Iraq, her faked death and her missions as an Agent to the final page.

Drawing the blankets up, she slides on her glasses and starts to read over the words that she's memorised and hears Quinn recite every night in her dreams, the words she reads every night before she falls asleep.

'_I think about that summer all the time, those short weeks we spent together. I didn't expect to return and find that you, Santana and Brittany had become friends, but I'm glad you did. I wish I'd had the courage to speak up then, to tell you how I felt but you were with Finn and though I suspected that you perhaps felt the same way about me, I was a coward._

_My feelings for you were difficult for me to come to terms with. When I realised that what I felt for you wasn't hatred or some form of insane jealousy, I was disgusted with myself. My family, my father in particular, and my church made it clear to me that being gay was a sin. I tried so hard to fight it. At night, I cried myself to sleep, praying for God to take away my feelings for you, to make me 'better'._

_Truthfully, I was scared. I was brought up to believe that I'd meet the perfect boy, have the perfect wedding, buy the perfect house, have perfect kids. Just like my parents and their skewed perception of perfection. When I fell in love with you,'_

Rachel feels the tears start to roll unbidden down her cheeks, the same as every night.

'_when you became my perception of perfection, I rejected it when I should have embraced it._

_Instead, I tortured you. I made your life hell and even if I spend the rest of my life apologising to you for the things I've done, I still wouldn't be able to tell you how sorry I am._

_Now, I'm doing what I think is the most noble thing. I'm letting you go. As soon as I found out that you were the one I was going to be protecting, I should have turned down this assignment. But I honestly thought I could handle it, that I'd be able to handle seeing you every day, despite not being able to tell you who I am._

_I had no idea that my feelings for you, feelings that I thought had faded, would return stronger than ever. Although they faded, they never disappeared. I've been in love with you for more than half of my life, Rachel._

_I hope you can forgive me. I doubt I'll ever forgive myself for walking away but I believe that it's for the best. You deserve happiness and I have been completely selfish in thinking that I am the person who can give you that._

_Live your life, Rachel. Find someone who loves you, who is more worthy than me, and be happy. That's all I ever wanted for you._

_Love always,_

_Quinn_

The piece of paper flutters to the ground as Rachel drifts off to sleep, tears still drying on her cheeks.

**xxxxx**

Quinn watches raindrops race each other down the window in her room, betting on the one on the right to make it to the bottom first. The TV is on but muted and the tray of food at the end of her bed is uneaten. She closes her eyes, missing the end of the race and sighs heavily, wondering to herself how her life could possibly get more mundane.

"You've got a visitor," a nurse calls before tutting loudly when she sees the untouched tray of food. "Alex, you'll never get your strength back if you don't eat."

Quinn doesn't respond but turns to face the doorway where her visitor is waiting, a smile on his face.

"You're looking better, Agent Casey," he says.

"Sir," Quinn replies, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of the room before cautiously wheeling herself towards the tray of food and picking up the bowl of strawberry jello.

"How are you feeling?" the man asks, crossing his legs and clasping his hands in his lap, setting Quinn with an appraising look.

"Like shit, Sir, in all honesty."

The man looks surprised for a second.

"Being here is driving me crazy," Quinn clarifies, "This room, this chair…" She gestures to the wheelchair she's currently confined to. "I've watched everything on TV at least five times. I'm able to recite dialogue from shows I've never even watched before. I need to get out of here, Sir."

"Agent Casey…"

"There's more I want to say, Sir," Quinn says, sitting up a little straighter even though it hurts to do so. "I want to be removed from missions."

"Removed?" the boss' mouth falls immediately into a frown. Quinn falters slightly under his gaze and looks down for a split second. However, her gaze is steady when she looks up again.

"I want to leave The Organisation."

The words hang in the air and the pair stare each other down.

"Out of the question," the boss finally replies.

"Sir, I am formally requesting…" Quinn tries again, sitting up straighter again, her hands gripping tightly around the armrests on her wheelchair.

"Request denied, Agent Casey," the response comes through gritted teeth.

"Sir, there must be a way," Quinn says, "Please..."

"You are dead," he says, pushing himself out of his chair to close the door. "Do you remember that, Casey? We cannot simply let you loose into the world again."

"Who's to say I'd return to my old life even if such a thing were possible?" Quinn challenges although she knows that this argument is pointless. Both know that Quinn will run straight back to Rachel if she has the chance.

"I think we can be pretty certain that that would be the case," he retorts. "I am under no illusions that your relationship with Ms Berry was strictly professional."

Quinn feels a blaze of heat rush through her body and her face flushes red.

"Let me give you the facts, Agent," the boss returns to his seat, clasping his hands again. "You are dead. You work for us. You will continue to be assigned to missions as we see fit." Quinn opens her mouth to protest. "You are a damn good agent, Casey. One of the best I've seen come through The Organisation. We didn't kill off half of your regiment so that you could turn your back on us as soon as your high school sweetheart…"

"You… what?" Quinn interjects, her face now ash white. The boss flounders for a second.

"We took the steps needed…" he tries to backpedal furiously.

"No, you… you killed… you faked the attack? You faked the attack so that you could take me?" Quinn's voice is a whisper. The man across the room says nothing. "You told me that you found my body and took me to your hospital to recover. It was a lie. Everything." Quinn closes her eyes, the screams of her brothers and sisters echoing through her mind once more. "You killed innocent people so that you could get me to work for you. My friends… my _family_… are you fucking insane? Those people were my life."

"Alex…"

"Don't fucking 'Alex' me," Quinn shouts, trying to push herself out of the wheelchair and crying out in pain as her chest constricts. Her boss leaps out of his chair to help her back down. "Don't touch me. Don't you dare fucking come near me." She doubles over, gasping for air now.

"It was for you," the man whispers. "We gave you a better life."

"You gave me a lie," Quinn mutters, aware that her scar has reopened and blood is starting to seep through her gown. "You get me out of it. Or I swear to god, as soon as I'm out of this hospital, I will make sure that no-one finds your body."

The man backs away, calling for a nurse as Quinn slips back into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

A familiar figure is sitting on the steps outside the apartment when Rachel finishes a ten-day stretch of night shoots.**  
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"Santana?" Rachel calls from across the parking lot, her footsteps picking up speed as she makes her way to the Latina. Santana barely has enough time to get to her feet before the petite brunette throws her arms around the taller woman, causing her to stagger back a couple of steps.

"Hey," Santana replies, wrapping herself around Rachel.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks, her words muffled.

"I was just in the neighbourhood," Santana says with a grin. Rachel pulls back and quirks an eyebrow at her. "I wanted to make sure you're doing okay. After what happened a few weeks ago. We had dinner with Kurt and Mercedes on Sunday and he said that you're trying to run yourself into the ground again."

"You didn't have to come all the way from New York by yourself," Rachel says, ignoring Santana's last comment and climbing the steps to open the door.

"Who says I'm alone?" Santana asks, gesturing across the parking lot to where Brittany comes into view around the corner of the building, bags of shopping in both hands. After off-loading the bags to her fiancée, the blonde knocks the air from Rachel's lungs with a bone-crushing hug. "Guys, come on, I want breakfast," Santana whines. Rachel chuckles and unlocks the door, ushering her friends inside.

"I should warn you… the place is kind of a mess," Rachel grimaces as she unlocks the door to her apartment.

"That's…" Brittany tails off and stares at the piles of dishes, unfinished glasses of water, newspapers, clothes covering every surface in the lounge. "Okay, what have you done with Rachel Berry?"

"Oh, sweet mother of…" Santana comes to an abrupt halt, dropping the bags of food on the ground, her eyes widening. She whips around to look at the shorter brunette, her hands on her hips.

"It's not _that_ bad," Rachel protests, walking to the window to pull open the curtains, dislodging a tower of empty takeout containers and sending them tumbling to the ground.

"Not that bad? I'm pretty sure that t-shirt just moved of its own accord," Santana eyes the offending article warily. Rachel rolls her eyes and picks her way through the room, grabbing her clothes and throwing them onto the bed in the guest room. She pauses, realising that Brittany and Santana will probably want to stay the night and might be curious as to why she's sleeping in the smaller and darker of the two rooms.

In the lounge, Brittany is stacking plates to carry through to the kitchen where Santana is banging cupboard doors and muttering in Spanish.

"Where's your coffee, Pintsize?" Santana calls as Rachel makes her way back towards the sounds of their voices, grimacing when she sees how quickly the pair has brought her apartment to a reasonable standard of cleanliness.

"I might be out of coffee," Rachel says hesitantly, hovering in the doorway, making sure that she's at least an arm's length from the other brunette. Santana curses and her expression changes into one of panic.

"I got some!" Brittany says brightly, delving into the now-misshapen bags of food and producing a jar. She tosses it to Santana and the Latina starts to transfer heaped spoonfuls into three mugs.

"Guys, you don't have to…" Rachel starts to protest.

"No, really, we do," Santana retorts, filling up the mugs with hot water and topping up Rachel's with soy milk and Brittany's with skimmed. She takes a sip of her own and sighs. "Better. The airline coffee was awful."

Brittany finishes stacking the dishwasher, full for the first time since Rachel moved into the apartment after the fake-bomb scare at her own place, and presses buttons until it whirs to life. She stares at the machine, thinking back to evenings when she and Quinn would wash and dry the dishes after a home-cooked dinner.

"Breakfast?" the blonde asks, breaking Rachel's reverie by holding up a bag of bagels. "I got those vegetable ones…"

"Vegan, B," Santana corrects quietly, reaching for the bag and arranging the bagels on a plate. "Let's sit down and we can chat."

"Santana, in the sixteen years we've been friends, I don't think we've ever 'chatted'," Rachel muses, clearing the dining table of newspapers and magazines.

"Well, desperate times and all that," Santana says, reaching out to touch Rachel's arm. "Kurt is worried. More worried than usual. Which means we're worried. You've been working yourself pretty hard on this movie and with all the drama with your bodyguard…" Rachel chokes on the first bite of her bagel.

"What has Kurt said about my bodyguard?" she wheezes after the piece of pastry dislodges from her throat.

"That he got shot," Santana says, staring curiously at the shorter brunette. "Is he okay?"

"He…" Rachel repeats.

"Yes, he… Alex? Kurt says you guys have been sharing this place after all the bomb shit that happened back near the start of filming but some other guy - Michaels? - is looking after you now."

"Ah yeah, that's right," Rachel says, nodding emphatically.

"You know, for someone who has won an Emmy for her acting talents, that was pretty much the biggest pile of shit I've ever seen," Santana says, clearly taking no prisoners. "Spill. Kurt says you've been cut up since the shooting happened."

"How many times have _you_ been shot at, Santana?" Rachel asks, dropping her unfinished bagel onto the plate and folding her arms. "And Alex and I are close. Were close. I think it's pretty understandable that I'm a little upset about it."

Brittany reaches across the table to wrap her fingers around the shorter woman's and squeezes her hand.

"From what Kurt said, it sounded like you and Alex were…" the blonde glances over at her fiancee, "Together." Rachel feels the familiar constricting feeling in her chest and focuses on her mug of coffee suddenly feeling an intense need to get out of the apartment. "Rach? You could have told us you were seeing someone."

"It was complicated, okay?" Rachel says quietly, feeling as though her heart is beating slightly out of rhythm. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Rachel…" Santana says, placing a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder. Rachel shrugs it off and leaps out of her seat.

"Don't," Rachel says firmly, "Just don't." She starts to pace the room, mumbling incoherently under her breath.

"Rachel, talk to us," Brittany says, guiding Rachel to the couch after a couple of minutes. "We're your friends and it's obvious that you're hurting. We want to make it better."

Rachel rests her head against Brittany's shoulder, unsurprised by the tears that come at the drop of a hat.

"She's gone," Rachel whispers.

"Who is?" Santana asks, hesitantly pressing a hand to the other brunette's back, rubbing it in circles as Rachel takes uneven breaths.

"I can't tell you," Rachel squeezes her eyes shut but she can't stop the words that tumble from her lips. "Alex. My bodyguard. She's gone and I don't know where she is or if I'll ever see her again."

"But doesn't the new guy know?" Brittany asks.

"He doesn't know much… there are rules and he's already in trouble with their boss so he doesn't want us to get into more trouble…" Rachel leans forward, holding her head in her hands. "I miss her so much."

Santana winces as Rachel starts to sob and lets Brittany take over with hugs and reassuring whispers.

"It'll be okay, Rach," Brittany whispers, "You'll see her again."

"You don't understand," Rachel moans. "I can't see her again."

"Help us to understand then," Santana says after draining the rest of her coffee. "I haven't seen you this upset since Quinn…" Rachel whips around to look at Santana, her eyes widening. "Rachel, I'm sorry…"

"Who told you?" Rachel bounces to her feet, pacing around the coffee table now. The two women on the couch glance warily at each other again. They're used to Rachel being a little erratic when she's stressed but they've never witnessed her behaving like this.

"Told us what?" Brittany asks slowly, growing more anxious by the second because of Rachel's behaviour.

"Was it Kurt? Did he say something?"

"About what? Rachel, you're confusing the hell out of us," Santana says, getting to her feet.

"About Quinn," Rachel says. "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone. No-one's supposed to know."

"Supposed to know what?" Santana shouts, getting exasperated and grabbing Rachel's arms to stop her moving. "What aren't we supposed to know?"

"Quinn…" Rachel takes a shaky breath, "Quinn was my bodyguard."

A moment passes and Santana drops Rachel's arms, taking a step back, suddenly scared.

"Quinn's dead, Rachel."

It's Brittany who breaks the silence, her voice matter-of-fact.

"She died four years ago."

"I know," Rachel says, glancing over at the blonde. "I know. She died. But it wasn't real."

"No," Santana says. "She's dead, Rachel. We went to her funeral, remember?" Rachel begins to shake her head and Santana grabs the shorter woman's arms again. "Rachel, she's dead."

Rachel merely shakes her head but keeps her mouth shut. Santana's expression hardens as she releases her grip on the smaller woman and walks away, running a hand over her eyes.

"Do you know how insane that sounds, Rachel?" she asks at last, her voice choked.

"I'm aware," Rachel nods. "Kurt questioned mine and his sanity when he saw her the first time."

"Kurt saw her?" Santana asks. "He saw her and didn't say anything… he didn't think to tell us that…"

"_He_ wasn't supposed to know either," Rachel insists. "No-one was. Who would have believed us anyway?"

"You're both insane," Santana whispers, her face ash-white. "I can't deal with this." She turns on her heel and walks out of the room. Both Brittany and Rachel jump when the door to the apartment slams and Rachel slumps into the armchair across from the couch, bursting into tears again.

"I believe you, Rachel," Brittany says, moving across the room to put her arms around the shorter woman.

"Thanks Britt," Rachel hiccups. "Should we go after her?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head firmly. "She'll come back. She just needs time to process. You still have a lot of explaining to do."

"I know," Rachel says resignedly. "I'll tell you everything but you have to promise you can't say anything."

"Like you said, Rachel," Brittany replies, stroking the other woman's hair, "Who would believe us anyway?"

**xxxxx**

Just under a thousand miles north, Quinn wakes up with an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She lies still for a minute, frowning when she hears none of the usual morning activity down the corridor. No nurses chatting at their station, no trolley bringing the other patients food - not that Quinn has actually seen another patient in the hospital - and, most worryingly, not a sound coming from the machines she's been hooked up to since arriving at the hospital.

Bracing herself against the metal railings of the bed, she pushes herself into a sitting position, surprised by how easily she manages this simple task compared to a few days ago when she'd given up and called a nurse to help her.

Her feet hit the cold linoleum and she stands upright, her legs shaking slightly due to lack of use. Gingerly, she disconnects the four wires that have been monitoring her vital signs and starts to shuffle towards the doorway, the feeling of uneasiness washing over her body in waves now.

The corridor lights are dimmed and every other room is in darkness.

"Shit," Quinn mutters, turning to go back into her room. Her first instinct is to get out of the hospital.

But then what? Having been comatose for the flight there, she has no idea where the hospital is and even if she could get to a highway, who would pick her up? All she has are hospital gowns.

At the end of the corridor, the elevator doors slide open and Quinn edges back towards the door, glancing around the room quickly for anything that she can use as a weapon. Four sets of footsteps are approaching the room at a rapid pace. Panicking now, Quinn shuts off the lights and hides behind the door, fists curled though she knows that she won't have the strength or agility to fight off four of her colleagues.

"Search the room," an unfamiliar voice barks. After the first set of footsteps enters the room, Quinn shoves the door closed with all of her might, gritting her teeth at the pain. The door connects with the next person's outstretched hand and the gun they're holding falls to the floor. Gasping for air, Quinn lunges for the gun and aims a shot at the first person's leg, grazing their skin. They collapse to the ground swearing and fire three shots that sail past Quinn's head.

The door flies open and two sets of hands tackle Quinn to the ground, relieving her of the gun.

"Who are you?" she growls, as they bind her arms behind her back. Their response is silence, as they've been trained. Quinn attempts to lash out with her legs but those have already been bound. She screams as the wires holding her legs cut into her skin, drawing blood.

"Hold still and it won't hurt," a voice whispers near her ear before a gag is placed around her head and a blindfold is secured so that she can't see.

The last thing that Quinn is aware of is a syringe, a sharp stab of pain in her right arm and the feeling of complete helplessness that overcomes her as she's hoisted out of the room.

**xxxxx**

Brittany is silently reading through Quinn's letters when Santana arrives back at the apartment. Rachel is in the shower leaving Brittany to answer the door.

"Hey," the blonde says, pressing a kiss to the other woman's temple, "Are you okay?"

"I think so," Santana shrugs. "Where is she?"

"In the shower," Brittany replies, sliding her hand into her fiancee's. "She isn't lying, San."

Santana snorts and jerks her hand away from Brittany. "She isn't. You have to read this." She drags a reluctant Santana towards the lounge and thrusts the letter into her hands. "Read."

Grudgingly, Santana drops onto the couch and begins to skim over the pages, recognising Quinn's writing instantly.

"It's fake," she whispers, tossing the pages onto the couch. "She's dead, Britt."

Brittany shakes her head and picks up the pieces of paper again. "Read it, for me." Unable to refuse the look on the blonde's face, Santana leans back and starts to read the first page.

Rachel edges into the room silently as Santana reaches the bottom of the third page and folds herself into the armchair, unable to look up at the other brunette.

"I'm sorry," Santana says quietly, placing the letter down on her lap and looking up at Rachel.

"No, I'm sorry," Rachel says, climbing out of the chair to cross the room. "I wanted to tell you. I _should_ have told you…" Santana holds up a hand, cutting her friend off.

"How do we get her back?" Santana asks. Brittany and Rachel exchange a glance and the shorter brunette frowns.

"Back?"

Rachel stays standing, hands wringing in front of her.

"You want her back, don't you?"

"I probably want that more than anything," Rachel whispers, "But we can't… I don't know where she is, if she's still at the hospital or if she's… somewhere else."

"Then we need to find out," Santana says, jumping to her feet. "Your bodyguard, Michaels… call him and tell him to get over here. I'll pummel it out of him."

"San," Brittany says, pulling the taller brunette back onto the couch, "Quinn says that she'll come back. She'll come back when she can."

"That's bullshit, we should find her," Santana says, standing up again and walking over the Rachel. "Call him."

"No," Rachel says, shaking her head firmly. "Quinn will come back when she's ready."

"If she's still alive," Santana argues, her face in anguish. "You should be trying to find her…"

"Don't you think I want to?" Rachel suddenly explodes. "Don't you think I spend every single second of every single day thinking about her? Worrying about what she's going through? Don't you think I've asked Michaels a thousand times if he knows anything or if he's seen her again? Santana, I have _tried_. I am trying. It's not like I can waltz into their offices and ask to speak to whoever's in charge. It doesn't work like that."

The Latina stares at her in shock. It's been years since she's heard Rachel shout like this.

"Wow, Berry, take it down a notch," she says, a little shakily.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "We just have to wait, okay? There's nothing else we can do right now. Can you promise me that you won't do anything stupid?"

Santana can only nod in response and then closes the gap between Rachel and herself, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman.

"I miss her, Rach," Santana whispers.

"I know," Rachel replies, closing her eyes as she begins to cry again. "I know."

**xxxxx**

"Hold still," the voice whispers hazily near Quinn's ear. She feels the bonds around her wrists loosen and her arms flop next to her sides, numb after being held in the same position for too long. She tries to open her mouth but finds that the gag is still firmly in place. The blindfold falls away and she cringes away from the bright light, squeezing her eyes shut. Next, the gag is removed and she feels water being poured into her mouth.

Blinking, her eyes start to adjust and she squints, trying to look at her kidnappers.

"Agent Casey?" a female voice asks. Quinn remains silent, unsure if she can trust these people, unsure if they're on her side. "Agent Casey, we want to help you." Quinn is pushed up into a sitting position and leans against the wall of the van they're travelling in, surprised to find that she's now fully-clothed in a hoody and sweatpants. She eyes her kidnappers warily, stretching her fingers as the feeling begins to return to her arms. Two women and a man are watching her expectantly. In the front of the van are another two Agents. "ID."

"It's okay," Quinn mutters. "I know you. Bucharest, right?"

The woman smiles in response.

"I didn't think you'd remember," she says, subconsciously touching the scar that now mars her cheek, "It was a short mission."

Quinn doesn't react, briefly reliving one of her first missions. A former American spy turned informant for another government. The job had been simple and he knew that they were coming for him. He was waiting, armed with enough C4 to blow up the apartment complex he left a paper trail to. A faulty wire was their saving grace and he was hauled back to his own country to atone for his crimes.

"I remember," Quinn says, shifting slightly. "So you want to tell me what the hell is going on? If you're going to kill me…"

"We're not here to kill you," a voice pipes up from the front of the van. "We're here to free you."

Quinn's face turns into a frown.

"Did you hit my head carrying me out of the hospital or did you honestly just say that you want to 'free me'?" she asks, glancing around the other Agents. There are nods all around. "So you're _not_ going to kill me?"

"Agent Saunders might be considering it," the first woman gestures to the second who raises her trouser leg to show off a freshly bandaged leg. "We didn't expect you to be so… mobile."

"Ah yeah, sorry," Quinn says, grimacing. "To be fair, I thought you were coming to kill me."

"We had to make it look as though we were," Agent Saunders says. "I'll get hell for missing you with those three bullets. Especially since you were able to get one of our guns and shoot me in the leg."

"People tend to underestimate me," Quinn says, grinning now, "I can't think why." Agent Saunders smirks in response.

"It's a good job you only grazed my leg, otherwise we'd be dumping you at the side of the road…"

"Ladies," the man says loudly. "We understand that you want to leave…"

"Who have you talked to?" Quinn asks, reaching down to tug at the bottom of the sweatpants, revealing bandages around both legs, sitting an inch above her ankles.

"You were struggling, the wires cut you," the first female Agent explains. Quinn nods, remembering the sensation of the metal cutting into her skin before she blacked out.

"So, do you have a connection to Michaels or something? I figure he must have been the one to tell you since I doubt the Boss is the type of guy to let something like that slip," Quinn asks, pulling the sweatpants over the bandages again and stretching out her arms.

"Agent Michaels has been in touch with our group before…"

"What exactly is 'your group'?" Quinn interrupts, her mind suddenly going a mile a minute with questions.

"Rehabilitation," Agent Saunders supplies. "The Boss' second-in-command is our boss. Technically, we are sent to 'destroy' Agents. However, once we have recovered the Agent in question, we provide them with an opportunity."

"To start over?" Quinn asks, staring at each of them in turn, almost convinced that she's dreaming. "Does your boss have any idea?"

"It was my idea in the first place," the voice Quinn heard earlier in the corridor resonates from the front of the van, much softer than before, "Agent Brown."

"Sir," Quinn inclines her head. "And the Boss?"

Uncomfortable glances are exchanged amongst the other Agents.

"When he signs an order for an Agent to be destroyed, as far as he's concerned, they're dead. They no longer exist. We file the paperwork and that's it. Instead…" Agent Saunders glances up to the front of the van. "We'll be relocating you to our base and we'll discuss our options. Primarily, we deal with giving Agents a fresh start, a new life. But we've had a few that want to return to their old lives. We understand that this would be the case with you?"

Quinn nods once. "You said Michaels was in contact with you? He wanted to start over?"

"I worked with Michaels last year," the male Agent says. "We kept in contact and when I joined this team, I let him know that if he ever wanted out, there was a way. He hasn't been happy for a long time. He was all set to go through with us creating a new life for him until about a week ago. He said he'd gotten some advice from someone and changed his mind. But he told us that we should look out for you. He seemed to know that the Boss would want you destroyed."

Quinn bows her head, remembering what she'd said to Michaels about his father. The journey continues in silence until Quinn feels a change in the van's direction.

"So, are you guys are based close by?" Quinn asks as the van rumbles along at a slower pace.

"Not exactly," Agent Saunders answers with a smile. "We'll be taking a short flight."

"Great," Quinn replies, "I still have a lot of questions."

"Wait until we're on the plane," Agent Brown says. "For the moment, you still have to look as though we've just picked you up from a hospital and that we're sending you off to the next life."

"Great."

**xxxxx**

Rachel is curled up on the couch, rereading Quinn's letters when she hears footsteps in the hallway. Santana walks in and slouches down at the opposite of the couch,

"Hey," Rachel says softly, sliding off her glasses and placing the letters on the floor.

"Hey yourself," Santana says. "Sorry about earlier."

"You don't have to apologise," the shorter brunette insists, scooting up the couch to sit next to Santana. "I should be. I yelled but you're the one who should be yelling at me."

"How about we both say sorry, again, and get over it?" Santana asks, quirking an eyebrow. Rachel nods and rests her head against the taller woman's shoulder and their fingers lace together. They sit in silence for a few minutes. "Kurt's not the only one who looks out for you, Rachel. Britt and I will always be here for you."

Rachel lifts her head to look the Latina and smiles, squeezing her hand.

"Love you, S," Rachel says, resting her head on Santana's shoulder again.

"Don't push it, Berry."

Rachel grins at the lack of venom in Santana's voice and closes her eyes. "Night," she whispers.

"Love you too, Rach," Santana whispers before carrying the comatose diva to her bedroom and tucking her in. She stands in the doorway of the room, making sure that Rachel actually stays asleep before rejoining her fiancée in the other bedroom. Brittany rolls over and opens her eyes as Santana climbs back into bed. She blinks sleepily and smiles.

"Is she asleep?"

"Yeah, she looks exhausted," Santana says, a frown etched into her forehead.

"You do too," Brittany says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the Latina's furrowed brow. "Sleep."

Santana nods and feels her eyelids start to droop.

**xxxxx**

"I know it's a lot to take in."

Quinn glances up from her notepad to see the Agent she had worked with in Bucharest standing in the doorway. She wishes she could remember the woman's name but feels a little ridiculous asking for it now that they've spent most of the past day and a half together.

"I just want to go home," Quinn says, placing the pad to one side and leaning back against her pillows, grimacing as the wound in her chest tugs slightly. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Luckily for you, all you have to do is sit tight until we organise everything. There are a lot of details to iron out. This isn't the first time we've rehabilitated an ex-military Agent though."

Quinn gestures to the chair sitting next to her bed and the Agent smiles, crossing the room to sit down.

"Writing anything interesting?"

"Just getting my thoughts out," Quinn says, glancing down at the piece of paper that has the word 'Rachel' scrawled at the top. Three paragraphs follow, though Quinn wonders if she'll actually have the opportunity to send the letter and if Rachel will be interested in a letter that mostly consists of the word 'sorry'.

"You must be feeling pretty exhausted."

"Actually, I'm just trying to process all of this. You have no idea how grateful I am for this, what it means for me," Quinn's is soft, eyes lowered to the blanket covering her legs. "If there is anything I can do to help, let me know."

"We've got it covered," she says, "You just need to rest up." The Agent falls quiet, glancing down at her hands. "So you have someone to go back for then?"

"Yeah," Quinn nods, smiling at the thought of Rachel, not that the brunette really ever strays far from her thoughts.

"They must be pretty special."

"She is," Quinn says. "I just hope she's still waiting for me."

"I can't imagine why she wouldn't be," the Agent blushes. "I'm sorry… you took a bullet for her, right?"

"I would have done that for anyone," Quinn shrugs. "I'd take a hundred for her." She cringes. "Corny."

"Nah, it's sweet," the Agent says and stands up. "I'll let you get back to your letter. Get some sleep."

"Night," Quinn says, raising her hand in farewell as the other woman leaves, staring at the door for a few minutes after she goes. She picks up her pen, twirling it in her fingers, to finish another paragraph but succumbs to sleep before she reaches the end of her sentence.

**xxxxx**

Rachel is fuming. As she leaves the restaurant, she pulls her phone out of her purse and curses the touch screen, which as usual, fails to respond to her jabs. She pulls up Kurt's number and listens to the phone ring four times before he picks up.

"Rach? I'm sorry… I'm still stuck at work…"

"Like hell you are," Rachel spits out. "You set me up with her." There's silence on the other end of the line and she huffs, sticking out her hand to hail a cab. One pulls up immediately and she hops inside.

"Are you going home? I'll come over so you can berate me in person," Kurt says sounding defeated. Rachel merely sighs and hangs up, throwing the phone back into her purse and staring angrily out the window as buildings whiz past them.

She replays the evening in her head, closing her eyes as she cringes. As soon as Rachel had called Kurt to say she was coming home to New York for a couple of nights, he'd organised dinner with some friends. When Rachel had arrived at the restaurant, it was one friend. And no Kurt. One phone call later, it became clear that Kurt had no intention of showing up, leaving Rachel with Alicia, a friend of a friend who described herself as a 'huge fan'.

"I saw you on opening night when you played Eliza in My Fair Lady," she had gushed. Rachel had nodded and smiled graciously before ordering a large glass of wine.

Alicia had monopolised the conversation until Rachel excused herself after dessert, stopping on her way out to pay the bill and escaping out into the crisp New York night.

She's jolted back to reality when the cab pulls up outside her apartment. She tosses more money than the meter reads onto the passenger seat and climbs out.

"Rachel!" Kurt's voice calls from further along the street. She glances over her shoulder to see him exiting a cab a few buildings down, "Rach!" The brunette spins on her heel and marches down the street towards him

"I can't believe you did that," Rachel seethes, pushing Kurt in the chest and turning to walk away.

"What, Rachel? Can't believe that I'd set you up? Try to get you to live in _this_ world again?" Kurt utters back, reaching to grab her arm as she storms back to her building.

They take the elevator to her floor in silence but as soon as the lock clicks, she rounds on him again.

"I'm really mad at you," she shouts before throwing her bag down and striding towards her lounge.

"I know, Rachel," he replies. "You're mad at me, you're upset with _me._ Well, I'm sorry for trying to help you."

"Help me? Help me with what? Quinn is coming back…"

"When, Rachel? _When?_" he asks, not waiting for a response, "She's been gone for weeks… months! She hasn't been in touch. She hasn't even spoken to that Michaels guy. She might as well be dead again. Maybe she is, for all we know. You're clinging to a ghost, Rachel, and I'm tired of it."

"If you're tired of it, maybe you should just leave me alone!" Rachel folds her arms and glares at him.

"Fine, maybe I will," he yells back, glowering back. "Just don't come crying to me when you lose everyone, Rachel. You can't push us all away. You've done it to your dads, to other friends… no-one else is going to put up with your bullshit as long as I have."

Rachel closes the distance between them, raising her hand. She can feel the anger boiling in her veins and her breath escaping in short pants, "Get out."

Kurt deflates, "I'm sorry."

"Get out before I do something I regret," Rachel spits. Kurt sighs and turns around, blinking back tears as he leaves the apartment.

Rachel feels a wracking sob leave her body and runs to the kitchen, scrabbling in her cupboards for her favourite glass, a gift from her first leading man on Broadway. She fills it to the brim and walks back into the living room, feeling the cold water trickle down her throat as she takes a tentative sip.

Then she pulls her arm back and hurls the glass at the wall next to her bookcase, watching as it smashes into a thousand pieces. Water runs down the wall and Rachel sinks to the floor, curling herself into a ball and choking out sob after sob until she runs out of tears.

**xxxxx**

"Time to go, Colonel Fabray," Agent Saunders greets Quinn, who grins at the sound of her name. She hops up from her bed, feeling strong and ready for the next chapter of her life. Staying on this base for the past month has helped. Quinn's daily routine usually involves seven hours in the gym and as a result, she feels more in shape than she ever has.

"It's going take a while to get used to that again," Quinn says, shaking Agent Saunders' hand.

"I'll let you finish up in here and meet you downstairs. Our transport will be ready to go in twenty minutes."

Quinn sits down heavily as soon as the footsteps have retreated along the corridor and places her head in hands. Today is the day. The day she takes her first steps back to Rachel, back to her life. Back to her mom and sister and her friends. A wave of emotion rolls over her body and she feels a couple of tears streak down her cheeks.

"Good luck."

The voice causes Quinn to spring to her feet, wiping furiously at her eyes. Agent Riley, the Agent from Bucharest, is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

"Thanks, Riley," Quinn says, reaching for her backpack and the letter sitting next to it.

"It'll be strange not having a gym buddy," she says, quirking her mouth into a half-smile. The two Agents have grown close over the past month and while Quinn has determinedly put up emotional barriers, she knows that the other woman has feelings for her.

"Yeah, I'll miss kicking your ass," Quinn says, glancing down at the envelope. "I know I don't deserve any favours, but could you maybe see that this makes its way into a mailbox?" Riley accepts the letter and nods.

"Of course," she says, "I hope she's still waiting for you."

"Liar," Quinn says softly. "You'll find someone."

"Yeah," Riley says noncommittally. "Anyway," she straightens up. "You have a couple of planes to catch and I don't want Saunders to kick _my_ ass for holding you up."

Quinn nods and makes her way out of the room, glancing over the shoulder at the crestfallen woman. She tries to think of something to say, to make it better but words fail her. She raises her hand in farewell and starts walking down the corridor.

Agent Riley slumps down onto the bed, staring at the envelope in her hands. As a tear rolls down her cheek, she folds the letter in half and carefully tears right down the centre of the envelope. She continues until all that's left are tiny squares that she sweeps off the bin into a trashcan, watching them flutter down like confetti.

As she boards the plane, Quinn is startled to find that she recognises her surroundings.

"Anything wrong?" Saunders asks, settling into the chair across from Quinn.

"I know this place," Quinn says, staring out the window. Four years ago, Mac had flown to this airport so that she could race across the State to watch her funeral. "It's close to home."

The plane begins its taxi down the runway and Quinn closes her eyes, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

"That's the reaction we aim for," Saunders whispers and Quinn cracks her right eye open.

"Thank you," she says softly.

**xxxxx**

Sealing the final crate, Rachel finishes packing her clothes and starts to move through the empty apartment, her footsteps echoing off the bare walls. Her car would be arriving shortly to take her to the airport. As she pauses in the doorway of what had been her and Quinn's bedroom until four months ago when Rachel moved into the second bedroom, her phone starts ringing, Kurt's face flashing on the screen. She resists the urge to throw her phone at the wall and begins the frustrating process of tapping at the screen.

"What do you want?" she answers tiredly.

"Are you near a television? You need to put on Channel 13 right now," his voice is frantic.

"What? Kurt, no, I'm about to go to the airport," she says. "Everything is packed. And I thought you weren't talking to me."

"You need to get to a television now," he urges. "It's… it's Quinn."

Rachel feels the room spin and she grasps onto the doorframe.

"What?" she whispers.

"Quinn," he repeats. "Rachel, find a television now!"

She hangs up and glances wildly around the apartment. Everything is packed in boxes around her, she's not even sure which one has the television in it. The removal men would be back later that day to get rid of whatever Rachel leaves behind. She runs out of the apartment and goes to knock on her neighbour's door. Bewildered, an elderly woman answers, peering at Rachel through the gap.

"I'm really sorry for the intrusion," Rachel begins, "But I really, really need to borrow your television for a second." The woman steps wordlessly to one side and opens the door a little wider, not really catching anything that Rachel has just said. The brunette hurries past her into the lounge, grabbing the remote from the table next to the armchair and jabbing the buttons until the channel changes.

Channel 13.

It's a news bulletin, a newscaster dressed in a hideous Burberry jacket is standing in front of an army base.

"Sources are confirming that the four hostages, including Captain Dale Young and Colonel Quinn Fabray…" Rachel sits down heavily, forgetting that she isn't anywhere close to the elderly woman's furniture. The pain that shoots through her lower back doesn't distract her from the report, "…both of whom were presumed dead in 2023..." the woman lifts a finger to her ear, receiving news from an office hundreds of miles away, "We have the first images of the newly-released hostages… live, from Baghdad, we're crossing to our correspondent, Peter…" The woman disappears and a man wearing a bulletproof vest and holding a microphone appears.

"The hostages are currently being transferred to our facility here and are anticipated to arrive in the next few minutes," the man fills in time until there are excited shouts in the background, then the first 'hostage' appears on-screen. Rachel inches closer to the television on her knees, desperate for a glimpse of Quinn. Suddenly her face fills the screen, short blonde hair tied back, a tired smile on her face. Rachel bursts into tears and her phone starts ringing again.

"I see her," Rachel says, answering Kurt's call.

"I just want to get home to my family," Quinn is saying into a microphone while doctors and nurses move around in the background. "My mom, and my sister. And Rachel. And everyone. I've missed you all so much. And I love you." Rachel grins through her tears, pushing herself off the ground, phone still pressed to her ear. She hugs the confused lady on her way out and runs back to her apartment.

"I'm sorry," they both apologise at the same time.

"No, I'm sorry." Again, their voices sound in unison and Rachel lets out a laugh, her first genuine laugh in months.

"I've missed you," Kurt says, sobbing now, "And I really am sorry."

"Kurt, it's okay," Rachel says, gesturing even though he can't see her.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too," Rachel lets out another laugh, enjoying the sound as it echoes off the walls of the almost-empty apartment. "Kurt, she's coming home!"


	10. Chapter 10

Rachel's fathers eye each other warily as their daughter stares intently at the clock hanging next to the fridge. It's been a while since they've seen her so agitated that she's simultaneously drumming her fingers on the dining table, biting the nails on her other hand, tapping one foot against the hardwood floor and dicing the other rhythmlessly up and down.

As soon as the horn sounds outside, Rachel leaps out of her chair, presses a kiss to both of her father's cheeks and flies out of the house.

"Ready?" Kurt asks, after she's fastened her seatbelt. Unable to form words through her nervous state, she settles for nodding furiously. He places his hand on top of hers and squeezes it firmly. They'd spent the plane journey from New York the night before reconciling over glasses of champagne until being shushed by a person in the next row.

Just as Kurt is pulling away from Rachel's house, her phone springs to life. She makes a frustrated noise as she punches the screen with her index finger. Kurt intervenes before she cracks the screen and answers the phone.

"Santana?" he asks. "Yeah, we're just leaving now. She's a little nervous. I'm not sure if she's capable of talking…" Rachel sighs and reaches for the phone.

"I can talk," she says and Santana laughs. "I wish you guys were here."

"And I wish that I didn't have a judge breathing down my neck. I have to be in court in fifteen minutes. I don't trust my colleagues enough to let them have this case," Santana says and Rachel pictures her rolling her eyes. "Just tell her that we'll see her soon," Santana pauses. "Give her a hug from me?"

"Of course," Rachel says, nodding furiously again.

"Gotta run," Santana says, clearing her throat and hanging up. Rachel smiles at her phone and drops it into her purse.

Kurt takes the most direct route out of Lima and heads towards the highway.

"Have you got it all planned out?" he asks, glancing sideways. "Slow motion run, big dramatic soundtrack?"

"If I had the time and resources," Rachel begins and Kurt allows himself a smile, pleased to see some of the old Rachel emerging. "What?"

"I'm just trying to imagine Quinn's face if you actually did do that," he says and she makes a face at him, turning to look out the window. They sit in silence for as long as Rachel can manage (two minutes and twenty-eight seconds) before she reaches for the console, flicking through radio stations until she finds one that's playing Broadway hits. "There's a radio station specifically dedicated to Broadway?" Kurt asks incredulously. "In Ohio?"

Rachel stares at him with raised eyebrows.

"How did you not know this?" she asks before launching into a memory from her childhood where she would have to listen to a certain show before going to bed every night.

"Rachel, I get it," Kurt says, interrupting her when she begins to lose pace but he grins.

"What?" she asks exasperatedly.

"It's like we're back in High School," he responds. "Back to when you could ramble on for minutes at a time without pausing for breath. It's really quite shocking that you didn't pass out more." Rachel slugs him softly on the arm. "Ow?"

"I would hit you harder if you weren't driving," Rachel says, folding her arms and smiling as she turns her attention to the passing fields.

**xxxxx**

"Colonel Fabray?"

The voice rouses Quinn from her sleep and she glances up to see Captain Young standing above her.

"Captain," Quinn says, lifting her hand to stifle a yawn before running it over her hair, hoping that she'll look presentable when she arrives at the air base. She feels a quick moment of dread as she considers the possibility that Rachel might not be there, might not have waited.

"I'm sorry to wake you but we'll be landing at Wright-Patterson soon and we haven't had a chance to talk since…" Quinn nods, glancing around. She gestures to the seat across from her.

"We have our stories," Quinn mutters in a low voice. "We were given them before we were transported to Iraq."

"I just…"

"No, Captain, we cannot discuss this further."

Quinn's tone is authoritative and Captain Young nods, changing the subject.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, his tone low. Quinn frowns at him and shakes her head.

"Terrified," she confides with a small smile. "I'm not going to kid myself into thinking that this will be easy."

He starts to ramble but Quinn doesn't have the energy to process what he's saying. She nods along with him as her mind begins to wander back to the beginning of the week. The flight to Iraq is where she met Captain Young for the first time, another agent turning his back on The Organisation.

The details of the next couple of days are hazy in Quinn's mind. They had been shut in solitary cells, all part of the act they'd been assured but Quinn had difficulty differentiating between what was real and what was fake. After four days, Quinn had begun to believe that she'd spend the remainder of her life trapped in this cell and that this was her punishment for trying to leave The Organisation; that the base had all been part of an elaborate hoax designed to lull her into a false sense of security. She grew mad with herself for being so trusting and, though she knew it was useless, started thinking of ways to escape.

Then two days ago, they'd been dragged from the cells with bags on their heads and hands tied behind their backs. Four of them. Young and two others and Quinn never asked if the other two had been part of The Organisation or if they'd been locked up for a while. There was no talking allowed. They had been bundled into the back of a windowless, airless truck and their journey began. Two hours before they had arrived at the US base, the truck had stopped and they had been allowed outside. The bags had been removed and their hands untied. For a brief instant, Quinn had considered the possibility of running into the surrounding desert to escape her captors until they had heard an English-speaking voice.

"We will be arriving at the base soon. There will be journalists waiting."

He had gone on to give them instructions, to say as little as possible and then they had been bundled back into the truck without their restraints. Quinn, distrustful as ever, had started to come up with ways of disarming the six guards sitting in the back of the truck, just in case.

After another two hours of silence, the truck had drawn to a halt and there had been shouts and the sun had been blinding as they left the truck again. Quinn had been ushered through the doors of the base, she remembers a microphone being thrust at her and that she said something about her family. And Rachel.

"Rachel," she whispers out loud, causing Young to pause in his ramble. He gives her a questioning look and she waves for him to continue, half-attempting to listen to his rambles.

The pilot's voice interrupts to inform them that they'd be landing within the next half hour. Quinn feels the knot in her stomach tighten and she tries to imagine what will happen when they land. They're prepared for journalists and photographers; they'd been through that in Iraq. What Quinn is completely unprepared for is who will be waiting. Will her mom be there? And Olivia? Olivia's family? Other family members? Friends?

Rachel?

She feels the plane begin to descend and is thankful when Young disappears back to the other side of the plane, leaving her to her own thoughts.

**xxxxx**

Rachel spots Judy Fabray and her eldest daughter immediately. She toys nervously with the pass around her neck and glances around, already garnering attention from some of the news reporters. Kurt stands protectively at her side, sending out the occasional 'no comment' when a microphone gets too close.

"Thank you," Rachel mutters once they're further away from the press.

"You'd think there would be more important things to report about," he says with a wink. "You look like you're going to pass out. Try to calm down."

Rachel nods, feeling her fingers shake slightly and clasping them in front of her.

A buzz of noise starts to spread through the hangar and cameras are hoisted onto shoulders. The plane has landed and from their vantage point, Rachel and Kurt watch two men in full military uniforms descend from the plane followed by one of the hostages Rachel recognises from television.

"Quinn," she whispers as the next person climbs down the steps. Rachel feels Kurt put an arm around her shoulders, steadying her as her heart begins to pound against her ribcage. Quinn is led into the hangar by two officers but breaks away from them as soon as she spies her mom. Kurt starts to push Rachel towards them but she shakes her head.

"They haven't seen each other for four years," she says quietly, watching as Judy is nearly knocked off her feet by Quinn's hug. Olivia presses kisses to the side of her younger sister's head and they stand bunched together while cameras flash and journalists are kept at bay by stern-looking officers.

After a couple of minutes, Quinn pulls back, quickly searching the hangar. Her eyes lock immediately onto Rachel's. She moves out of her mom's embrace wiping her eyes and starts to walk towards the still-shaking brunette.

Letting out a choked sob, Rachel walks forward though her legs have suddenly turned to jelly. Quinn breaks into a jog and meets Rachel in a bone-crushing hug, sweeping her off her feet. Rachel swears she hears Kurt let out a whoop but everything seems to pale in contrast to the look on Quinn's face.

"I love you," Quinn mutters immediately in Rachel's ear as the brunette begins to sob against Quinn's uniformed chest. "I'm never leaving you again. I love you, Rachel."

Rachel slides her arms around Quinn's neck and holds on for dear life.

"Like I'd let you leave again," she eventually says, glancing up into Quinn's shining eyes. "I love you."

Rachel feels a gasp leave her chest as Quinn twirls her around a couple of times. Everyone else seems to fade away and as Quinn lowers Rachel back to the ground, their foreheads meet.

"What?" Rachel asks under Quinn's intense gaze. "Is something wrong?" Quinn shakes her head quickly.

"No," she says. "Everything is perfect."

**xxxxx**

"Colonel Fabray?"

Quinn glances up from the folder in her hand and stands, tucking the folder under her arm.

"Ma'am," she says, offering a quick salute. The woman gestures for her to enter the room and she relaxes, taking in the medical consult room. The doctor sits down at her desk and flips through a file.

"Welcome back," she says, gesturing to the chair across from her. Quinn nods and sits down, placing her folder on the desk.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"I understand you've been back on American soil for three weeks?"

"That's correct," Quinn confirms, slightly surprised when she realises that it has been three weeks and how fast the time has passed. At times, it's been a blur: spending time with her mom and sister and meeting her brother-in-law for the first time; seeing Rachel and officially meeting her fathers; flying to Washington for medical evaluations and to discuss her future… It's already been settled that, regardless of the Medical Evaluation Board's decision, Quinn will be moving to New York as soon as possible.

"I've been reviewing your evaluations," the doctor interrupts Quinn's train of thought, "And understand that you want to begin the Medical Separation process as soon as possible, is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," Quinn says, opening the folder in front of her. "I've completed the paperwork I was given during my last evaluation and require your signature." Quinn slides the form towards the doctor. "You don't have to give me any speeches. I'm aware of my decision."

"I wasn't going to lecture you. Far from it. Particularly after your ordeal," the doctor smiles, reaching for a pen. She glances over the forms before signing them. "You appear to be handling your return to civilian life remarkably well."

"I have a support system in place," Quinn states, "They're helping me through any issues. As you can see from the forms, I will be attending counseling sessions privately in New York."

The doctor finishes signing the forms and slides them back towards Quinn.

"Thank you," Quinn says, standing when the doctor stands, gathering up her folder.

"Good luck for the future, Colonel," the doctor says, extending her hand. Quinn grasps it firmly and, without a backward glance, leaves the room, walking briskly towards the main entrance.

She tugs the collar of her coat up, trying to shield her face as much as possible from the biting wind as she walks towards her rental car. Her hand is reaching for the handle when the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she gets the distinct feeling that someone is watching her.

Calmly, she glances around, catching sight of a dark-haired man in an overcoat ducking between two cars.

"Michaels, what the fuck?" she calls, dashing towards the cars he disappeared between. The gap is empty and she whips around, watching as he strides away, hands buried in his pockets.

She hesitates, watching him round the corner of the building and walks back towards her car, opening the door this time and sinking down into the front seat. She's about to start the engine when she notices an envelope tucked beneath the wiper. Perplexed, she retrieves the envelope and slides out the note inside.

"I got your back. Always."

It's signed 'E.M.'. Quinn feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth and jumps back into the car, eager to get back to the airport and back to Lima where Rachel and her family are waiting.

**xxxxx**

Quinn shivers as Rachel's lips press against the back of her neck.

"Come inside?" the brunette whispers. "It's freezing and they'll be here soon." Quinn nods, taking in the view of New York for a couple of seconds more before turning and walking into Rachel's lounge. The brunette reaches for her hand, bringing her in close for a kiss. Quinn's hands immediately go to Rachel's waist, tugging at the shirt she's wearing.

"When are they…"

"Half an hour," Rachel breathes into Quinn's mouth.

"Bedroom," Quinn mutters, lifting Rachel up and carrying her out of the lounge.

"While I was worrying myself to death over your whereabouts, thinking that you were dead…" Quinn quirks an eyebrow as she lays Rachel down and all but rips the buttons of the brunette's shirt before lying down between her thighs. "Not knowing if I'd ever see you again…" Quinn rolls her eyes and starts to kiss her way up from Rachel's navel to her neck, teeth nipping sharply at a sensitive spot on Rachel's collarbone. She feels Rachel gasp. "It's really hard to be mad at you when you're doing that, you know."

"I know. Maybe you should stop pretending to be mad," Quinn grins, capturing Rachel's lips in her own, leaving the brunette whimpering when she moves away again, unbuttoning her jeans, loosening them enough to slide her hand between the tan skin and… "You're not wearing underwear."

"No," Rachel says, "Is that a problem?" Quinn shakes her head and lets her fingers drag through the wetness she finds. "I thought they'd get in the way when we…"

"You planned this all out, didn't you? Seducing me right before our friends arrive?" Quinn grins and traces her finger over the brunette's clit.

"Jesus," Rachel breathes out. "I'm hardly the one doing the seducing," she murmurs, lacing her fingers through blonde hair. "Stop distracting me from my thoughts. While I was worrying myself to death… you were holed up in a gym."

"Only to stop myself from spending every waking moment thinking about you," Quinn drawls, teasing Rachel's entrance, feeling the petite woman straining up against her.

"Did it work?" Rachel gasps as two of Quinn's fingers slide deep inside her.

"Not even slightly," Quinn admits. Rachel's moan sends a jolt of pleasure through her and she begins to thrust harder, briefly wondering how many times she can make Rachel scream her name before their friends arrive.

"More," Rachel is panting and Quinn obliges, adding a third finger and curling her fingers. "Fuck."

More words stream from Rachel's mouth but Quinn can't differentiate between one and the next and hides her grin by lowering her mouth to the brunette's chest. Rachel's hand falls away from Quinn's hair and quickly opens the front clasp of her bra allowing the blonde to take an already stiff nipple into her mouth.

"Quinn," Rachel moans, her voice rising musically as teeth scrape across the sensitive flesh. "Quinn…"

Quinn feels the body pinned beneath her jerk upwards as she thrusts harder and the denim clad thigh rubbing between her legs causes her to moan around Rachel's nipple, sending vibrations through the petite brunette's body. As Rachel's pants become more ragged and higher-pitched, Quinn pulls her hand away and slides down the bed, pulling Rachel's jeans down around her knees.

Positioning the brunette at the end of the bed, Quinn kneels on the floor and spreads Rachel's legs.

"Please Quinn," Rachel begs, her body twitching almost painfully from need.

Quinn complies, running her tongue over the throbbing clit. With Quinn's name on her lips, Rachel cants off the bed as her orgasm rocks through her, collapsing back on the bed.

The doorbell buzzes moments later. Quinn finds herself giggling as Rachel swears loudly in the direction of her upstairs neighbour and helps the brunette off the bed, leaving her to clean herself up.

"You're mine later, Fabray," she hears Rachel call followed by the sound of drawers opening and closing in the bedroom as she walks down the hall to let their friends in. Rachel has changed her shirt and jeans by the time the others reach the door. "Mine," Rachel whispers, catching Quinn in a quick kiss before pulling the door open.

Santana barrels past her to throw her arms around Quinn, leaving everyone else gaping at her.

"Uh, Santana… you saw her three days ago, remember?" Rachel pipes up.

"Shut up, Berry," Santana says without malice, her voice muffled by Quinn's hair. "Nice JBF hair, by the way."

"JBF?" Rachel enquires, reaching up to touch her hair.

"Just been fu-"

Rachel clamps her hand to the top of her head, blushes furiously and dashes to the bathroom to check her reflection.

"Santana, be nice," Brittany says, dropping a kiss to Quinn's cheek as she passes on her way to the lounge.

"I'm always nice," Santana replies, finally pulling away from Quinn, who gives her a grin.

"You guys are first," Quinn says, pushing the Latina towards the lounge as Rachel comes out of the bathroom, hair smoothed down appropriately.

"You could have told me," Rachel hisses as Quinn reaches for her hand, following her into the lounge where Brittany is already sprawled across one couch pretending to nap.

"Britt, come on," Santana is trying to push Brittany's legs off the couch but failing miserably. With a mischievous glint in her eye, the brunette descends on the taller woman, tickling her sides until she squirms over to one side of the couch

"Not fair," Brittany says, pouting as Santana makes herself comfortable. "You know I have a fear of being tickled."

Quinn raises an eyebrow which Santana glares down before the brunette turns to her fiancée.

"Sorry, baby," Santana says, leaning in for a kiss.

"Glad to see nothing's changed," Quinn says, flopping down onto the other couch, dragging Rachel with her.

"Well, some things have changed," Santana says, disengaging from Brittany for a second to look at the other couple with a raised eyebrow. The buzzer sounds again.

"Yeah, I don't remember you ever being on time for anything," Quinn says, hauling herself off the couch. Santana lobs a cushion at her and misses, knocking a photograph from Rachel's shelves.

"Sorry, Rach," Santana says, jumping off the couch to retrieve the photograph. She smiles down at the photo of Quinn and Rachel taken all those years ago and sets it back on the shelf next to a photo of her and Brittany.

"Any damage?" Rachel asks, as Santana sits down.

"None," Santana grins. "I obviously didn't throw it hard enough."

There are voices from the hallway as Quinn greets Mercedes and Kurt, laughter that sounds like music to Rachel's ears. The newcomers sweep into the lounge and welcomes are exchanged before they settle down into the remaining chairs. Rachel glances over her shoulder, frowning when she notices that Quinn isn't in the room.

"Drinks?" Rachel asks, climbing off the couch.

"Red!" Kurt and Mercedes say together and start laughing.

"Beer?" Santana asks and Brittany makes a face.

"White," she says with a smile. Rachel makes her way to the kitchen where she finds Quinn finishing a phone call.

"Everything okay?" Rachel asks after Quinn has pocketed her phone. She reaches up for wine glasses and feels Quinn's hand close around hers.

"Yeah, just army stuff," Quinn shrugs. "I have to fly to Washington on Monday."

"Have they made a decision already? It's only been two weeks since you submitted all of the paperwork," Rachel begins to ramble nervously, ignoring the drinks to turn and face her girlfriend. Quinn shakes her head, lacing her fingers through Rachel's.

"I don't know, Rach," Quinn replies. "I won't know until I'm there."

"What if they say no? You can't go back…" Rachel's hands squeeze Quinn's and the blonde smiles.

"I'm not going back," Quinn says firmly. "I said I wasn't going to leave you and I stand by that. Look, let's enjoy tonight and this weekend and what happens next week, happens. We'll deal with it then."

Rachel nods and the pair meets in a soft kiss before the brunette pulls away, returning her attention to the drinks, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," Quinn says, sliding her arm around Rachel's waist. "Don't worry." Rachel fixes her with a look and Quinn smiles, "Try not to worry _too_ much."

"I'm coming with you," Rachel says decisively, "I want to be there."

"Of course," Quinn says, pressing a kiss to Rachel's temple. She grabs another beer from the fridge and helps her girlfriend carry the drinks into the lounge. After Rachel finishes distributing the drinks and grabs a few bags of chips from the kitchen, she sinks onto the couch. Quinn's arm immediately takes up residence on her shoulder and she smiles, glancing around at her friends.

Quinn squeezes her shoulder as she reaches forward for her drink.

"Love you," she whispers low enough that no-one else hears and Rachel's smile splits into a grin. Quinn's right, of course. No amount of worrying will change what happens on Monday and for the moment, she manages to halt the unsettling feeling in her stomach.

**xxxxx**

Quinn gives Rachel one last hopeful smile as she disappears into the room they've been waiting patiently outside of for close to half an hour. Rachel clenches her hands together, offering up a prayer to anyone who's listening, wishing that she could be in the room with Quinn.

Quinn is directed to sit down. Four men and one woman face her and suddenly, nerves wrack her body. She's been so sure that she'd be granted a discharge that she hasn't stopped to consider the alternative possibility.

"Colonel Fabray," the man sitting in the middle of the table begins. "After careful consideration of your medical evaluations and the recommendations of the physicians who examined you, your application for Medical Discharge has been approved."

Quinn closes her eyes for a brief moment, exhaling a shaky breath.

"Thank you, sir," Quinn says, getting to her feet and crossing the room to shake the hand of every person sitting behind the table.

"The appropriate paperwork will be forwarded to you," a voice says but she doesn't really hear anything else they say. She's led out of the room and into the corridor where Rachel jumps to her feet.

"What happened? That was quick. It was too quick… they said no, didn't they? I'll go in there and beg if I have to…" Rachel throws her arms around Quinn who is too shocked to say anything to her girlfriend. "Quinn, say something."

"My application was approved," she mutters.

"What?" Rachel shrieks, earning her a few glances from the people who are waiting in the corridor. Quinn grabs her hand and leads her out into the parking lot before kissing her hard.

"Let's go home," she says, grinning as Rachel wavers slightly and reaches up to touch her lips.

"Wait… what?" Rachel tries again.

"I'm not a soldier anymore," she says, tugging on Rachel's hand.

"That's it? You were in there for less than five minutes," Rachel says, allowing herself to be dragged across the parking lot.

"They're busy people, Rach," Quinn says, unlocking the car and holding Rachel's door open for her.

The drive back to the airport is quiet apart from the radio, which Quinn turns up when it becomes clear that Rachel is incapable of forming words.

"Did you expect some sort of ceremony?" Quinn asks, chuckling slightly. Rachel rolls her eyes in response and turns the volume down on the radio.

"I don't know," she says with a little half-shrug, "I just thought there'd be more to it. I mean, you're leaving behind a significant part of your life. I feel like it should be marked in some way."

"You can throw a party if you want," Quinn says with a grin.

"Just a small party," Rachel agrees and then makes a face at the thought of having a lot of people in their apartment, "Or y'know, just you and me."

"Sound like a plan to me," Quinn says, turning her attention back to the road. Rachel falls silent, staring out the window with a thoughtful expression playing on her features. "What?" Quinn asks finally.

"Do you get to keep the uniform?"

**xxxxx**

"Babe, I'm on my way," Quinn says, pressing her phone closer to her ear as a gust of wind blasts a wall of snow into her face. She curses Santana for keeping her out in this weather and hurries along the street, jamming her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. She doesn't mind winter and the seemingly never-ending snowfall but when she thinks back to where she was this time last year, she feels a small pang of longing for the deserted cove she found on an almost-deserted island in the Caribbean the week before she flew to Peru. She makes a mental note to mention it to Rachel.

When she rounds the corner, however, she feels a warmth spread through her at the welcoming sight of their building. The windows that face onto the street are lit up like beacons welcoming her home.

She slides her gloves and hat off as she crosses the foyer to the staircase, greeting their downstairs neighbour with a smile and quick pleasantries about the weather.

The first thing she hears when she opens the door to the apartment is strains of 'Winter Wonderland' coming from the lounge.

"Rachel?" she calls, hanging up her coat and walking into the lounge where she pulls up short, her jaw dropping.

"Merry Christmas!" her girlfriend announces from her position next to the piano, standing in front of a fully decorated tree

"How long was I gone?" Quinn asks, staring at the tree before her eyes flick to Rachel's beaming face.

"Santana was just a diversion. I had to enlist the help of Kurt and Mercedes to get the tree decorated while I cooked…"

"You cooked?" Quinn asks, eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

"With supervision from Kurt," she confirms with a nod. "I've never cooked a traditional Christmas dinner before but I think I've covered most of the basic elements… turkey, roast vegetables, gravy…"

Quinn's stomach growls audibly.

"It's March," Quinn says, still staring at the tree, then she notices a couple of wrapped gifts, "And you got me presents? I didn't get anything for you…"

"I didn't do this with the expectation of gifts, Quinn. You didn't know I was planning any of this," Rachel says, walking forward to take her girlfriend's hands. "You're cold."

"Yeah, it's wild outside and Santana had me trailing all over New York… I really can't believe you've done this," Quinn says, smiling at last. Rachel relaxes and leads Quinn towards the dining room where dinner is waiting on the table. "Why have you done this?" Rachel looks away for a few seconds before turning back to face Quinn.

"I didn't feel like celebrating Christmas," she says with a shrug. "I spent it alone…"

"Rach," Quinn admonishes softly, pulling the shorter woman close to her and wrapping her up in a bear hug, "I thought you went back to Ohio…"

"I visited briefly for Hanukkah," she says. "But I went back to Los Angeles for Christmas. I didn't really feel like seeing anyone." Quinn releases Rachel from her hug and pulls out a chair for her to sit down.

"This is amazing," Quinn says, sitting down next to Rachel and starting to pile food onto her plate. "Santana barely let me eat all day," she offers as an explanation.

"I told her that you could have something small for lunch," Rachel says apologetically, watching as Quinn smothers her food in gravy and begins to cut up a slice of turkey. Her expression turns to one of amusement as Quinn loads up her fork.

"I'm ravenous," Quinn says before popping the food in her mouth. She moans and Rachel giggles, "So good. You _can_ cook."

After Quinn clears her plate three times, they abandon the dining room and return to the lounge where Rachel gathers up the gifts, dragging a larger one out from beneath the tree.

"You really, really didn't have to…" Quinn begins.

"Quinn, shut up," Rachel says, passing her the first gift to the blonde. Reluctantly, Quinn starts to pull off the wrapping paper. "Could you try to be a little more enthusiastic?" Quinn rolls her eyes, breaking into a grin.

"I want to open the big one," Quinn says, gesturing to the largest of the presents. Rachel slides it over and Quinn tests to see how heavy it is. "Is it a pair of slippers?" Rachel shakes her head. "A bike?" This earns her a giggle.

"Open it!" the brunette says. Quinn pulls off the paper, frowning at the brown box, "You'll understand when you see what's inside. It's not the easiest thing to wrap."

Quinn's jaw drops when she pries the box open.

"A guitar?" she asks, opening the case and running her hand down the neck. "This is a Gibson. Rachel, this is too much."

"Quinn," Rachel interrupts, holding up a hand. "It's Christmas."

Quinn opens her mouth to protest but changes her mind and picks up the guitar instead.

"It's beautiful," she says, her voice a mixture of awe and shock. "I haven't played since… I haven't played for nearly five years." Her fingers pick each of the strings and she smiles. "You have to sing."

"As if I'd say no to that," Rachel says, scooting close to Quinn and kissing her softly on the lips as the blonde begins to strum.

**xxxxx**

A/N: Nearly finished with this. Thanks for the reviews and the favourites and everything. Epilogue and a deleted scene still to come :)


	11. Epilogue

**About a year later**

Quinn wants to sit down. She's wanted to sit down for the last half hour but the disapproving looks she garners from the stylists every time she wanders close to the armchair in the corner of their suite causes her to remain upright. She glances at herself in the mirror as she paces the room for the twenty-seventh time and resists the urge to check the time. The dress is not something that she's used to wearing but the look on Rachel's face when she had first tried it on earlier that morning was enough to make Quinn want to wear it.

Rachel finally appears from the adjoining bedroom, another stylist trailing behind her.

"How do I look?" Rachel asks, twirling. There are gushes of approval from everyone except Quinn, who simply stares. "Baby?"

"Beautiful," Quinn breathes at last and then shakes her head, trying to bring herself out of her reverie. "Time to go."

The pair makes their way down to the front lobby of the hotel and out past some of the paparazzi who found out where they're staying, not stopping until they're in the back of their car.

"Excited?" Rachel asks, sliding her hand into Quinn's.

"More excited than the first time we went to an awards show together," Quinn replies with a grin. "And tonight I actually get to sit with you. Promise me you aren't going to freak out and try and run out on me because I'm a little out of practise at running in heels."

"I'm not going anywhere," Rachel says, brushing her lips against the taller woman's cheek.

"Don't smudge my make-up!" Quinn says in mock horror. "You're going to win tonight." Rachel rolls her eyes and leans in closer.

"I already won, remember? I got you," she says, catching Quinn's lips in a lingering kiss.

"Cheesy," Quinn says when they pull apart. The car starts to slow down as they approach the theatre and the camera flashes are blinding before they even exit the car. Quinn hangs back while Rachel works the red carpet, stopping to give a couple of short interviews and answering questions about her dress and about the movie. And inevitably, about Quinn. Rachel's hand clasps tightly around her girlfriend's and Quinn feels a knot of nerves form in the pit of her stomach, listening to the brunette waxing lyrical about how lucky she is.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks with concern once they're inside the theatre and being shown to their seats. "You look a little nervous."

"Just the cameras," Quinn replies, running a finger absent-mindedly along the scar on her forearm. Rachel ducks her head and presses a quick kiss to the marked skin before closing her hand around Quinn's forearm.

"You're stunning." Quinn makes a face and a noise of disapproval.

"How are you feeling?"

"Excited, nervous… happy," Rachel beams. "You make me happy."

Quinn feels the knot in her stomach tighten throughout the ceremony. During one of the breaks, while Rachel is chatting to one of the other nominees in her category, she checks her phone. Messages from Brittany and her sister tell her that she looks amazing. The message from Kurt causes her to break into a grin.

"Mercedes and I are watching. We have popcorn. Try and relax. You look like you're going to pass out," it reads. She drops the phone back into her purse as Rachel turns back to her and smiles.

"Kurt?" Rachel asks as she settles back in her seat.

"Yeah, he and Mercedes have popcorn," Quinn says, reaching over to brush a loose strand of hair away from Rachel's eyes. "You really are beautiful tonight."

"You're not so bad yourself," Rachel rolls her eyes, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Are you okay? You still look really nervous."

"I'm fine. I'm great," Quinn says, a little too quickly. "Best Actress is up next, right?" Rachel nods.

"I should practice my disappointed-but-pleased face," she says, pulling a ridiculous face.

"You're going to win," Quinn whispers, leaning in close. "I promise."

Rachel pulls back and gives Quinn a curious look but there's no more time to talk because the presenter is walking onto stage and the audience are applauding politely. As he reads out the nominations, Rachel smiles for the camera poised next to her, her face filling one of the screens next to the other nominees.

"And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to..."

Rachel's grip tightens on her girlfriend's hand and Quinn decides it's now or never, leaning over quickly to whisper in Rachel's ear.

"Marry me."

Around them everyone starts cheering and Rachel realises that she doesn't know whose name was called. She stares open-mouthed at Quinn until she's pulled from her seat and into a hug by the director of the movie.

"Rachel, you won!"

She's pushed towards the stage and numbly climbs the steps, amazed that she doesn't trip over her dress. She kisses the presenter on the cheek and accepts her award with shaking hands before turning to face the audience.

Nothing.

The biggest moment of her professional career and... nothing.

She tries forming sounds, anything.

Nothing.

Then she spots Quinn in the crowd beaming up at her. She leans forward towards the microphone and finally finds the words. The word. The only word.

"Yes."


	12. Deleted Scene: Drill Commands

**A/N:** This is a deleted scene of sorts from chapter 10, prompted by something that Rachel said.

**Title: **Drill Commands

**Rating:** NC-17

**xxxxx**

Both women are curled up at opposite ends of the couch, wrapped up in blankets. Outside, the wind is howling against the windows as winter rages against the city. They've been sitting like this since they finished dinner an hour ago.

Feeling eyes boring into the top of her head, Rachel sighs and glances up, catching Quinn's intense gaze.

"What?" Rachel asks, lowering the score for an audition she'll be performing in a few day's time. Quinn taps her lips thoughtfully and shrugs her shoulders. "Quinn, what?"

"Nothing," the blonde replies, grinning as she turns her attention to the book in her hands though she hasn't retained a word of it thus far.

"Tell me," Rachel says, stretching out her legs beneath the blanket to run her toe up Quinn's scarred calf.

"On the way to the airport in Washington, you asked me something," Quinn says, placing the book in her lap and reaching down to take the brunette's foot in her hands. She runs her fingertips over the sole, smiling when Rachel shivers at her touch.

"I asked you a few things," Rachel says, sighing as Quinn's fingers start to move in circles, pads of her thumbs working out the tension in her muscles.

"You asked me one thing in particular. One thing that's been playing on my mind a little," Quinn says, moving the book to the floor and shifting onto her knees, hands returning to the brunette's foot. After pushing the blanket away from the shorter woman's legs, she begins to work her way up Rachel's right calf, fingers massaging up to the knee before pulling back to do the same to her left leg. A soft whimper escapes Rachel's lips, head rolling back.

"I did?" Rachel tries to recall their conversation on the way to the airport but shakes her head. "You're going to have to refresh my memory," she says, a moan tumbling from her lips as Quinn's fingers find a knot of tension just below Rachel's left knee. The blonde ducks her head down to press a kiss against the sore spot before massaging the knot away.

"Better?" Quinn asks, shifting her position again, pushing Rachel's legs a little wider apart and settling between them. Her eyes lock with the brunette's, teeth running over her bottom lip. "You asked me if I got to keep something." Quinn's fingers trail along the hem of the shorts Rachel wears to bed, when she decides to wear anything.

"Oh," Rachel blushes slightly. "Yes. That's right." The thought of Quinn in her sharply pressed trousers, shirt, tie, buttoned jacket and shined shoes sends a jolt through the brunette, as does her recollection of the way that Quinn had moved, purposefully, confidently, assuredly.

"So, you like a woman in uniform?" Quinn's voice breaks through Rachel's daydream and she gazes up at the blonde.

"I like whatever you wear," Rachel says, aware that she's staring as she watches Quinn's lips turn upwards into a smirk.

"That's not what I asked, Rach," Quinn lets her hands travel up beneath the fabric of the shorts, thumbs stroking the insides of the brunette's toned thighs. "Is it the suit? Or any sort of uniform? Because I wore combat gear on the set of the movie every day for weeks and you managed to not throw yourself at me."

"I have incredible restraint," Rachel murmurs, eyes closing as Quinn's hands slide closer to where she needs them the most right now. The blonde slows her movements and takes in the sight beneath her, shaking her head slightly from side to side in disbelief.

"Okay," Quinn says simply and moves away completely, backing up against the other end of the couch. She reaches down and plucks the book from the floor, nestling it in her lap again. Rachel pushes herself up on her elbows and narrows her eyes at the smirking blonde.

"Tease."

"Sorry," Quinn says, offering an apologetic half-shrug. Rachel can't help but think that she's never witnessed someone show less remorse for their actions.

**xxxxx**

"Attention."

Rachel glances up from her book, jaw dropping as brisk footsteps rap against the hardwood floor and Quinn comes to stand at the bottom of the bed, a smirk on her features.

"Quinn…" Rachel begins, eyes drinking in every inch of the uniformed woman.

"I said, attention," Quinn interrupts, taking a step back from the bed and clasping her hands behind her back. Rachel feels a shiver of anticipation run through her body as she drops her book and pushes away the blankets covering her legs. She walks quickly around the bed coming to a halt in front of Quinn, who gives her an appraising look and shakes her head slightly. "Sharpen up, soldier."

Rachel bites her bottom lip and straightens her back, bringing her arms stiffly to her sides, unclenching her hands. She keeps her gaze steady and concentrates on taking even breaths despite the fact that her body wants nothing more than to throw itself back onto the bed.

Quinn turns to her right and begins to pace back and forth in front of the brunette, hands still clasped at the small of her back.

"Quinn…" Rachel exhales.

"Soldier," Quinn gets as close to Rachel as possible without touching the brunette, "I do not recall giving the order to break position. Did I give the order?"

"No," Rachel says, a tremor in her voice as she takes in the stern expression on Quinn's face.

"No what?" Quinn counters.

"No, Qui-." The blonde narrows her eyes a little. "No, ma'am." Quinn nods.

"Better."

Rachel's eyes fall from Quinn's eyes to her lips before dropping down the rest of the blonde's body and snapping back to attention. Quinn falters at the glint in the brunette's eyes when their eyes lock again and clasps her hands tighter behind her

"At ease," she says, stepping back and watching as Rachel relaxes a little. The brunette shifts her weight onto her right leg and moves her left foot slightly away from her right, "Is this what you wanted?"

Quinn gestures to the uniform and watches as Rachel's eyes travel the length of her body. The brunette cocks her head to the side and smiles.

"Actually, I imagined how amazing it would feel to remove that uniform," she says, "Ma'am." Rachel tightens her grip, squeezing her own wrist almost painfully in an attempt to stop herself from grabbing the collar of Quinn's jacket and pulling their bodies together, mouths meeting in a heated kiss.

"What else did you imagine?" Quinn asks, her stance softening. She clenches her fists behind her back and forces herself to take a deep breath, steadying her body from pushing Rachel back onto the bed. A blush rises up over Rachel's chest, settling on her cheeks and she averts her gaze. "About face."

Rachel glances up in confusion and Quinn steps in close again, cheek brushing against the brunette's.

"It means turn around," Quinn whispers, letting her tongue trace the outer shell of Rachel's ear, eliciting the tiniest of moans from the shorter woman's lips. Hesitating for a few seconds, the brunette turns to face the bed. Quinn keeps her position, body inches from Rachel's, and closes her eyes for a few seconds, desperately trying to rein in the urge to touch the brunette.

Quinn takes a half-step to the left so that she's standing directly behind Rachel, though their bodies are still a few inches apart. With trembling hands, she hooks her index fingers into the waistband of Rachel's shorts and pulls them down, fingertips dragging across the tan flesh. Rachel shuffles her feet a little wider apart and at Quinn's command raises her right leg followed by her left so that the blonde can toss the shorts away.

"So beautiful," Quinn whispers, pausing before straightening up. Rachel feels her cheeks burn as she registers the husky timbre of the blonde's voice and her legs part a little further. Quinn notices the movement and smiles, running her hand down the brunette's side, passing over her hip bone before dropping down between tanned thighs. The taller woman bites back a moan when she pulls her hand away and inspects the tips of her fingers. Rachel is standing stock still, barely daring to breathe for fear that she'll start begging; begging for Quinn's touch, begging for the taller woman to let her turn around so that she can take off piece of fabric of the uniform Quinn's wearing.

Rachel jumps slightly when delicate fingers brush against her skin and Quinn murmurs a soft apology in her ear before pulling her tank top up over her head. Devoid of her clothing, Rachel's skin erupts in goosebumps as Quinn's fingers trace patterns around her waist and over her abdomen, then inch higher until they brush the undersides of her breasts. Her body arches into the touch and a whimper escapes her lips as Quinn's hands cup her breasts, thumbs pressing sharply against her straining nipples.

"God," Rachel breathes, eyes rolling back, head falling back onto Quinn's shoulder. The blonde turns her head slightly and presses her lips against Rachel's skin, sucking lightly as her fingers move in unison over the hard peaks, rubbing, pinching, tweaking, tugging.

"About face."

Quinn's voice wavers as she moves her hands away from Rachel's body. The brunette turns immediately, staring up at Quinn with darkened eyes and her bottom lip caught between her bottom teeth.

"On the bed."

Rachel takes a quick step back towards the bed and climbs on, staring expectantly up at her girlfriend. Quinn opens her mouth to speak but finds the words die in her mouth.

"Tell me what you want," Rachel says, sensing that the blonde is wildly out of her comfort zone. The brunette rests back on her elbows and parts her legs. "It's just me, Quinn. Only me." Quinn nods and runs her teeth over her bottom lip, gathering her thoughts before continuing.

"Touch yourself," she says, less confidently than she wants to sound. She begins to unbutton her jacket, sliding it down her arms and tossing it towards the chair in the corner of the room.

"Where?" Rachel asks, running the tip of her middle finger around her nipple.

"Lie back. Both hands on your breasts, rolling your nipples between your thumbs and index fingers."

Rachel nods and does exactly as Quinn says; practiced hands kneading and massaging as she pinches her nipples. The blonde unfastens her belt and pushes her trousers down, shucking off her shoes and kicking them to one side.

"Tell me how it feels."

"It doesn't feel as good as the way you were touching me," Rachel says, closing her eyes as she tugs lightly on her right nipple, "Ma'am."

Quinn feels a tremor run through her body and she closes her eyes to calm herself again, pausing as she loosens her tie.

"Run your left hand down your body, down between your legs and tell me how wet you are."

Rachel's hips jerk upwards slightly as she carries out the next instruction. Her legs spread a little wider and she smiles at the sharp intake of breath she hears Quinn take as she runs two fingers from her clit to her entrance, moaning softly. The blonde is undoing the buttons on her shirt, fumbling as she watches the brunette intensely.

"Soaked," is the response.

"Touch your clit."

"Fuck," Rachel hisses as her fingers return to her clit, circling around it before pressing hard against it. Her hips cant towards the ceiling and she gasps. "Please, Quinn."

"Wait," Quinn says, a grin working its way across her features, her shirt still hanging open, "Wait."

Still pinching her nipple, Rachel lies still, desperately ignoring the urge to start moving her left hand, to bring herself to some kind of release. Without meaning to, her hips rise up again and Quinn tuts, starting to close the buttons of her shirt again.

"Wait," the blonde repeats and Rachel nods, concentrating all of her energy into not moving the lower half of her body. Satisfied that Rachel isn't going to move, Quinn opens her shirt again. It joins the rest of the clothes on the floor. "Slowly."

Rachel groans in relief as she begins to move her fingers in measured circles, keeping her eyes on Quinn. The blonde reaches behind her back to unhook her bra.

"A little faster."

Rachel's hips begin to move in time with her fingers as she picks up the pace.

"Faster."

"God," Rachel moans as she increases her speed once again, her other hand falling to the blankets, fingers curling around the edge. A familiar coiling sensation starts to work its way through her body and she presses harder against her clit, ready for release.

"Stop."

Rachel's mouth falls open in a silent growl as her eyes snap back to Quinn's. Her fingers cease all movement and she pants, staring up at the blonde. Unbidden, her hips jerk upwards, craving purchase.

"What?" she demands.

"Stop."

Quinn pulls off her remaining clothes and kneels on the foot of the bed as Rachel closes her eyes, listening to the rushing of blood around her ears. The brunette's hips jerk again and she groans.

"Continue."

Rachel opens her eyes, narrowing them at the blonde. Her hand begins to move, fingers drawing quick circles as she finds her rhythm again. She works quickly, bringing herself back to the edge, ready to make those final few strokes that will push her over when Quinn parts her lips.

"Stop."

Rachel's groan of frustration causes the blonde to chuckle.

"Glad you think it's funny," Rachel hisses through gritted teeth as Quinn moves further up the bed, settling between the brunette's bended knees. "Quinn, please."

"Continue," Quinn murmurs as she pushes her fingers against Rachel's entrance, thrusting two fingers deep inside as the brunette begins to circle her clit again. A series of gasps and groans and curses follow as Rachel brings herself over the edge, head falling back against the blankets as she arches off the bed.

Breathing heavily, she slows her hand until her hips stop twitching, aftershocks still coursing through her body. She feels the bed dip beside her and turns her head to face the grinning blonde.

"Mean," Rachel pants, "Very mean."

"Beautiful," Quinn counters, brushing a few strands of hair from the brunette's forehead.

"Flattery will not distract me, Ms Fabray. That was quite despicable," Rachel tries to sound as indignant as possible. Quinn shifts onto her side, bringing her body closer to the brunette's, letting her hips roll against Rachel's thigh.

"Maybe you can wear the uniform next time then."

Rachel bites down on her bottom lip as the tips of Quinn's fingers draw tiny hearts across the brunette's chest.

"Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And that's it for this fic. Thanks for reading and reviewing/adding it to your favourites :) Bx

**Also:** If you're interested, I posted some of the playlist I wrote to and some art inspired by the fic here


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